


After All

by theonehewaitsfor



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannigail - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Intimacy, Love, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonehewaitsfor/pseuds/theonehewaitsfor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail forms a relationship with both Will and Hannibal. A new case comes up with ends up involving Abigail. She's stuck in a dilemma and is not sure of who to choose. She knows regardless, something bad will happen.</p><p>Will she die in the house after all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

Hannibal Lecter’s eyes were glazed over as he observed Will Graham and Abigail Hobbs deep in discussion. Just two years ago, Will murdered Abigail’s father in front of her. Just two years ago, Will and Hannibal both saved her life. Their hands were both coated in her arterial blood, spurting out across the kitchen linoleum of her lifelong home. Just two years ago, all of their lives had changed forever.

In the sunlight of her comfortable, one bedroom apartment, Abigail sat at a table across from Will, sipping a cup of tea at the small oak breakfast table. Coffee gave her the jitters and caused her hands to shake. She could barely think clearly normally, but with coffee she was losing nuts and bolts with each moment that passed.

“So how are classes going? Are you still sticking with biology as your major?” Will questioned her, his hand resting on his knee and the other clutching the coffee cup before him. Hannibal stood, glancing at the books and art on the miniscule bookshelf above Abigail’s worn tan-suede loveseat.

“Well, microbiology and my organic chemistry classes are the hardest. However, finals are coming up and I know I’ll be alright. Getting into medical school and becoming a doctor is my main goal. Helping others is all that matters.” Her smile was contagious, the scarf tightening on her neck as she clenched her jaw with joy.

“I see you’ve been studying hard.” Hannibal points towards her desk in the corner, a MacBook and papers cluttering the surface. His arm is draped with his tweed suit jacket, his tweet vest, pale blue shirt and deep maroon tie exposed.

“I’m sorry, I should have cleaned up.” She blushed scarlet, and stood up, approaching her desk quickly. As she began to reach for the stack of papers, Hannibal’s hand caught her wrist. As soon as he had gripped her, he could feel the bones in her arm through her thick sweater.

“I’m going to use the restroom.” Will stood, turning and walking down the hallway to the restroom. He did not notice the interaction between Abigail and Hannibal.

“Have you been eating?” Will had left the room and it was Hannibal and Abigail alone.

“No. I’m not hungry.” Hannibal pulled up the sleeve of Abigail’s sweater and saw the bone of her thin arm.

“You need meat…… For yourself and your bones. You look sickly.” He was right, Abigail realized. She turned to the mirror above her desk and witnessed the hollow cheeks, the lifeless eyes, and the downturned mouth.

“Dr. Lecter, I’m simply not hungry.” Slipping her wrist from his grasp, Abigail slid away, sitting back at the breakfast table.

“Come to my house tomorrow, please. I’ll cook you a meal after our session.” It was said and done.

 

            *                                                          *                                                          *

Abigail dressed in a pair of khaki pants, riding boots, a white linen top, plaid scarf and a navy blazer. Her hair was straight and down her back. She never wore it up. She couldn’t bare her neck in case the scarf slipped. The scar was not as bad as it first was, however, it was still horrific.

Arriving at Hannibal’s door, she rang the doorbell and waited on Dr. Lecter’s front step. Snow was falling heavily, thick snowflakes collecting quickly. Standing outdoors, she began to see her breath, the feeling of cool air down her throat suddenly reminding her of Minnesota.

“Hello Abigail.” Dr. Lecter opened his tall and wide door to greet her and invite her in. He removed the black pea coat covering her navy blazer. She felt exposed without the coat; naked almost.

“Please, go sit in my study.” She began walking slowly, touching each and every one of the displayed pieces of art or special memorabilia.

“I just polished that today.” Hannibal exclaimed, his voice flat lined, in response to Abigail’s delicate fingers sliding over the marble sculpture of an elderly man.

“Forgive me. I had no idea you were behind me. I didn’t mean to be rude.” Abigail flushed brightly, embarrassed. She knew Dr. Lecter had a specific order and way of performing tasks. Entering his study, she had a seat in the plush, tan chair. Hannibal sat down across from her, pulling up the pant legs of his tweed suit before landing elegantly.

“Tell me, how are your studies?” His thick voice sounded like aged molasses dripping from a spoon.

“Good. Classes haven’t been hard, but people still stare at me.” She gazed at her knee, plucking a piece of lint just above the bend in her leg.

“There will come a time where those behaviors will become extinct, I assure you.”

“I feel like they see right through me. I fear they see me for what I am.”

“And what is that?” They both knew the answer. Hannibal wanted to hear her say it.

“The daughter of a serial killer and a cannibal.” Abigail wrapped her arms around each other, her elegant fingers brushing over the smooth, rich blazer. His nostrils flared; the rest of Hannibal didn’t flinch.

 “And?” He needed her to say it. He was tense with anticipation and arousal.

“A murderer.” She whispered, her eyes darting to the mahogany coffee table between them. Hannibal scribbled on his pad, and Abigail began to shake. She was terrified. What was she becoming?

“Abigail, you know you are no longer your father’s daughter.” He set aside the leather bound legal pad, standing up. “Walk with me,” He held out his hand for her.

“Where are we going?” She placed her hand in his; his palm was equally as chilled as her own. She wondered if his heart was cold, like his hands. There was no answer to her question. He led her through his home, down the dark, deep red hallway, and to the steps of his front entry.

“Inhale. Take in everything around you.” Her hand slipped from his, and she stood in the accumulating snow. “Close your eyes, Abigail.” Tilting her head back, she allowed her eyes to slip shut and feel the cool snowflakes dusting her body. The cold, crisp air cleansed her lungs as she inhaled, and Abigail felt herself finally stop trembling. A moment of silence passed before a car crunched along the brick road, the vehicle packing down the snow under its wheels. As the blurriness of her mediation faded, every sound became present again. Invading her, bombarding her, the sounds diseased her mind and caused Abigail to tremble once again. Suddenly, a hand slipped around her waist, and another pointed to the sky. She realized Hannibal was pointing up at the thick snow coming down in what seems like sheets.

“It’s beautiful.” He said, turning his head from the snow to the scar on Abigail’s neck, exposed just above the scarf.

_This is my design._

 

        *                                                          *                                                              *

 

Hannibal had his sleeves rolled just below his elbows, sautéing onions in a garlic butter sauce held in a stainless steel pan while Abigail stood at his sink, cleaning radishes and trimming the ends of asparagus. Hannibal’s white apron was folded over and secured at his waist, his tie tucked into the brim of his brown trousers.

 

 

He lifted the cutting board and scraped the knife along it to push the ingredients into the frying pan. Reaching into the refrigerator, Hannibal retrieved a long cutting board with a thick, white and red heart atop.

 

“What is that? A beef heart?” Abigail adjusted her scarf, pulling her silky, dark hair to cover the skin still exposed on her neck.

 

“It’s the most succulent part of an animal.” He placed the heart in a pan, coating it with an olive oil drizzle and a spritz of parsley. “The heart is simply the best.”

 

               *                                                       *                                                          *

“That was delicious. Thank you so much, Dr. Lecter.” Abigail dabbed the corners of her mouth with the thick, brown napkin. She rested it again in her lap, realizing Hannibal had dessert still remaining.

“I hope you still have an appetite for more,” he purred, his wide mouth spreading to hint at a smile. Leaving the dining room, Hannibal returned a few moments later with a thick, delicious looking chocolate cake. “One can never go wrong with a classic.” He slid a long knife through and placed the thick slice upon a porcelain dessert plate.

“Chocolate cake is my favorite. Truly.” Abigail smiled softly as she slid a forkful of the rich cake into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut and she moaned gently. “It’s delicious.” She whispered, and went for another bite.

Hannibal indulged himself, but planned to keep the cake around merely for Abigail. Unless a woman was allergic to chocolate, the dark substance was always the answer.

“So, I was thinking that I might try to start riding again.” Abigail ran her fingers through her hair and reached for her water.

“As in, horseback riding?” Hannibal took another bite of the moist cake.

“Yes! I think it’ll be fun. And maybe something to clear my head.”

Hannibal nodded his head in agreement. It would be good for her. Horses are calming creatures. They were often used for children with autism. Even though Abigail did not have that disorder, she could still benefit from the horses.

“I think that would be an excellent idea. I have a close friend who owns private stables just outside Baltimore. It wouldn’t be a problem for you to go.” Hannibal wiped his mouth delicately, replacing the napkin in his lap.

“Really? Oh, thank you.” Her smile was genuine, a slight parting of the lips to show the top set of pure white teeth. Her scarf slipped down and exposed the thick, raised equator on her neck. Hannibal’s eyes lingered a bit too long, and Abigail noticed. She flushed and pulled the scarf tight.

“I apologize. Injuries fascinate me.” Hannibal took a large sip of his wine, finishing the glass. He smoothed his hair over and stood, taking the empty plate and glass. He left slowly after gathering Abigail’s dishes, entering the kitchen with anxiety. He knew she could see that he desired her. Not simply her flesh, but her inner workings. A bright young woman with large cerulean eyes, a dusting of freckles and a long slender frame. Abigail’s mind fascinated Hannibal; she was just like him. Her deepest fears were present, but her motives were not. Hannibal knew Abigail needed a father figure; a protector. He could pleasure her with that role. Protecting seemed to be his best trait; his strongest and deepest urge.

When Hannibal returned, Abigail’s scarf was resting in her lap, her hands running through her long, dark hair. He wanted to feel the silkiness of her locks, the scar laced across her neck, her exposed collar bones.

“Sometimes I take it off because I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s like it’s choking me.” Abigail was referring to her scarf, looking down at it with sad eyes.

“That’s not unusual. Considering that your father clutched your neck, practically choking you.” Hannibal approached Abigail. “You should be heading back.” He didn’t want her to leave. However, it was getting late and Hannibal had an early session the next morning.

“You’re right. Thank you for the session and for dinner.” She stood, following Hannibal down the hallway of his home, gathering her black wool peacoat and slipping it over her navy blazer.  

“I will have my friend who owns the stables call you when you can come up.” Hannibal’s lips seemed to twitch as Abigail unknowingly brushed her hand against his.

“Thank you for that. Goodnight, Dr. Lecter.” She smiled, closed mouth and ducked her head down as she passed through the door and out into the world where snow was its vice. 


	2. Two

*                                              *                                              *

Will came and visited Abigail a few days later. As he rang her bell and she buzzed him in, she was dressing to go up to the stables.

 

“Are you going horseback riding?” He questioned, walking through the door and closing it behind him with a squeak.

 

“Yes! Dr. Lecter set it up for me. I suggested it and he agreed that it would be good therapy. I’m still having nightmares.” She tied a plaid Ralph Lauren scarf around her neck. She had gone out and bought riding pants and new boots for the occasion. The pants were warm, the boots a tad big so she double layered her thick, navy blue socks that reached her knees.

 

“I still have them too.” He fiddled with a glass paperweight from her desk, placing it back down before speaking again. “I’m working on another case. Little girls. All four years old. All Caucasian. They’re dressed as dolls, their faces painted and eyes glued open. It’s haunting me.” He collapsed in the brown leather loveseat against the wall opposite her desk. Will buried his face in his hands.

 

“Come riding with me, Will. It should help clear your head.” Abigail offered her hand to him and he cautiously took it.

 

 *                                                         *                                                                      *

 

The stables were near Columbia, Maryland. Abigail parked her silver Honda Accord on the gravel and waited for Will. He dressed in a pair of corduroy’s, suede ankle boots, a ¼ zip maroon sweater and an army green jacket. He donned a pilled brown beanie and his glasses, as always. He glanced over at Abigail, cheeks rosy from the cold.

 

“You must be Abigail!” A voice boomed, coming from a tall man standing at the stable doors. It was a grand building, with freshly painted trim and two monstrous sliding barn doors. The man was a good five inches taller than Will and a giant compared to the small-framed Abigail.

 

“Hi, I am Abigail. This is Will. I hope you don’t mind I brought him along.” She pulled on a pair of leather gloves and tightened her scarf; an action that occurred multiple times in a day.

 

“I’m Aleksander. That’s not a problem at all! Follow me and I’ll let you both meet your new companions.” The man turned, dark green Hunter rain boots outside of dirty and torn jeans. His head was covered with a black ball cap and he seemed to be warm in a puffy grey coat. “So, how do you know Hannibal?”

 

“He helped out on a case of mine. I’m with the FBI.” Will jumped in, relieving Abigail of telling her story.

 

“And you?” Aleksander turned while walking through the middle of the stables to glance at Abigail expectantly.

 

“I’m a patient.” Simply put, Aleksander turned and stopped. Gesturing with his hand, Abigail and Will saw the beautiful creature resting in its stall.

 

“This is Harlow. She’s a gentle Thoroughbred. She’ll treat you well. Is this the first time you’ve ever ridden?” Aleksander peered down at Abigail. She shook her head and stepped forward to touch the white painted nose of the horse. Harlow exhaled heavily into Abigail’s palm as she became familiar to her scent.

 

“Will, come meet your horse. This is Lilly. She’s—“An Arabian. I know. She’s beautiful. I’ll be able to ride her well.” Will interjected. He had been riding horses for a very long time.

 

After putting on the saddles and bridles, Abigail and Will waved to Aleksander who let them into the large pasture. Fastening on their helmets, they mounted the horses quickly and began riding. Abigail felt herself become free. She bounced up and down roughly as Harlow galloped. Will was flying just behind her and caught a glimpse of Abigail’s smile. Her scarf fluttered in accompaniment with her thick brown hair. They traveled through the pasture and eventually entered a large forested area. Will caught up with Abigail as they raced through the trees.

 

“Do you think we should get out of here?” Abigail shouted at Will; the trees were growing thicker. The ride was beginning to grow rough and difficult. Will couldn’t hear with the sound of the cold winter wind rushing through his hair and ears. He laughed loudly as Lilly leaped over a large tree sleeping on the earth’s floor. A sickening feeling washed over him as he realized Abigail was not behind him any longer. He pulled the reigns back on his horse and turned her around.

 

“Abigail!” He shouted, terror in his voice. She could have fallen off and been seriously hurt. Out of the corner of his eye, Will caught a glimpse of Harlow. The horse had no rider. Abigail was somewhere in the forest. He called for her again, frantically.

 

“Abigail!” His voice boomed and echoed through the forest.

 

“Boo!” The young girl shouted and jumped from behind the thick trunk of a tree, causing Will to fall back. His eyes were wide and mouth open. He shook. Realizing the damage she had done, Abigail ran to him. “I’m sorry, I only meant to startle you. Have a little bit of fun, know... I’m so sorry, Will.” She reached out, hugging him tightly. Obviously, they were both a bit off in the head.

 

***

Later that afternoon, the pair were resting in Abigail’s apartment. She made sandwiches for them and they ate in silence in her bright kitchen. Someone buzzed for her, and she flicked her wrist for Will to buzz them in. She expected one of her friends or possibly Dr. Bloom. She visited occasionally.

 

“Abigail.” Hannibal Lecter appeared in her kitchen, right after Will had dropped tea bags into the boiling water of each individual mug.

“Dr. Lecter,” She nodded in his direction. Will stiffened. After his case with encephalitis, he still had blurred trust issues with Dr. Lecter. Hannibal folded his navy double-breasted coat over his arm and walked into the white-walled living room. It was decorated with small pictures, fresh flowers and a large map of Minnesota.

“I just had Will make some tea. Would you like some?” Abigail was trying to be a polite hostess; Hannibal would only be able to beat her at that game. He was the ultimate host.

“As long as it’s not mushroom.” Abigail smiled softly at the inside joke and caught Hannibal’s wide mouth spreading thinner as a form of a grin.

Will walked from the sink to the other two in the room, clutching three mugs of tea. He handed one to Dr. Lecter, one to Abigail and kept one for himself.  They ventured into the living room; it was much better suited for a larger party. Will sat down on a suede indigo chair diagonal to the sofa where his delicate friend rested. Hannibal remained standing, poised like a statue.

“Thank you, Will.” He sipped slowly, the warm liquid dribbling down his throat. He enjoyed that sensation. It reminded him of having a friend for dinner.  

***

Time passed. Regularity was good for Abigail; sessions with Dr. Lecter and dinner with Will. Abigail left her apartment early one morning to grab a cup of coffee before taking a taxi to Dr. Lecter’s for her session. As she bundled up, she knew it would be cold outside. However, she didn’t realize how frigid it was out. Not just uncomfortably cold, but so cold it felt as if winter were setting up its home in her bones.

When she entered the waiting room, she could hear shouting. A woman. Something was thrown. There was the sound of glass. _What was going on?_ A woman exited the room after screaming explicate words. Her hair was a fierce, angry red. Mobs of curls gathered around the intensely pale face. Abigail looked to the floor in front of her, allowing her hair to shadow her face. Freddie Lounds.

The door to Hannibal’s large office remained open and Abigail only entered when she heard Freddie leave. There was not one bit of Abigail that wanted to see the jargoning journalist.

Hannibal was on his hands and knees, cleaning up the glass of a vase. Deep red roses were on the floor. Abigail joined the process by gathering each thickly-stemmed flower.

“Not all agree with my motives, Abigail.” He was referring to Freddie Lounds. She still hounded Hannibal over his analyses of cases. He always declined. Moving the blood red roses from the pool of fresh water on the floor, she sucked her breath in rapidly as she sliced open her index finger with a thorn. The blood started to run down as Hannibal turned to her.

“Put it in your mouth.” She obeyed and his eyes focused on her young, soft lips.

“Here. Let me see.” A slight smile spread across his wide mouth. “I think you’ll live.” Hannibal stood, approaching her with vigor. Taking her hand, Abigail accidentally lost grip of the roses. She knelt down, her hand still in Dr. Lecter’s. As she moved, he inhaled her. He wanted to envelop her.

“Sit, please. We’ll talk. Then to dinner.” Resting herself in her usual place, Abigail tenderly removed the army-green military jacket. Underneath, she wore a grey chiffon top that fell to her thighs, black leggings and black military boots. 

Dr. Lecter had questions already prepared. He knew something was troubling the young woman’s soul. However, before he could inquire about anything, Abigail spoke.

“I’ve been having nightmares.” She was fumbling with the fresh cut on her finger, glaring at it.

“About your father?” Dr. Lecter placed one leg over the other, using his knee as a prop.

“No. Will. He’s murdering me. Pushing me off a building. Pushing me off a cliff. Anything that has to do with me falling.” She swallows heavily. He can tell she’s upset. It unsettles him.

“Why do you think you’re dreaming about this?” Hannibal interlaced his long, slender, yet masculine fingers and cradled his knee. His navy argyle socks were showing beneath the high pant leg. Fine Italian leather ankle-boots were the highlight of his elegant outfit.

“Don’t be silly. You’re not Freud and this is not a problem with my subconscious. I know why I’m having nightmares. I’m terrified that I won’t have anyone to protect me. One of the safest things I could have done went wrong three weeks ago. I'm afraid that he'll be my demise. You are also in my nightmares.” Now she’s hunched over, eyes straight forward. Hannibal needed to see her eyes. If the blue was finally turning black.

“You’ve analyzed yourself, Abigail. Did you know that?”

“Yes. I knew what was causing my problems from the moment I woke from my dream. I wet the bed, Hannibal. That’s how terrified I was. I have no protector. I can’t even protect myself from my own demons. I’m alone.” She stood, starting towards the window, stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Striped curtains framed the only outlet to the world in the room; they were closed at four o’clock in the afternoon. Sunlight seemed to avoid Abigail Hobbs.

“You’ll never be alone as long as I am here. I’m still your psychiatrist. I am still your protector. Remember?” Abigail flung herself around, suddenly face to face with the Lithuanian doctor.

“ know what you are. I’m not safe with you. I’m not safe with Will. I’m not safe with anyone.” She began to walk away, but Hannibal caught her.

“Abigail, stop.” He reared her backwards, soon clutching her face between his hands. The tears were coming again as she peered up at him.

“I have kept your secret. You will keep mine. We’re the same, you and I. Always have been. Always will be.” He let her go, walking towards the door.

“Don’t forget, we still have dinner to attend to.” He raised his index finger, like a man who just answered a correct question, or one a poker game. Hannibal Lecter exited the room, leaving Abigail as she always was. Alone. 


	3. Three

*                                                                      *                                                                      *

“I want to go horseback riding tomorrow. Do you want to come?” Abigail was sitting opposite Will in a coffee shop halfway between their two homes. Will looked up from his case files, his glasses falling to the end of his nose. She reached around her neck and tightened the ponytail her dark hair was pulled into.

“I’m sorry, Abigail….. I can’t. I need to work on this case. I’m so close to breaking it. I just, I, I, I don’t have time. Maybe next week?” His eyebrows seemed to show more empathy than the rest of his face did, and before he spent too long giving her a pitiful glance, he turned his attention to the graphic pictures and profile.

“That’s fine. I’ll just wait.” She had no intention of doing so, but she could care less. She needed to free her mind. Free her spirit. Abigail had a feeling the only way she would do that was atop Harlow.

*                                                                      *                                                                      *

“Aleksander! Hi!” Abigail closed the door to her Honda and jogged up to the barn entrance. Aleksander gave her a short side hug.

“How are you? You look a bit cold!” She laughed, her head thrown backwards.  

“Harlow is saddled and ready for you. I would suggest sticking with the pasture. All the snowfall we’ve gotten has made it hard for the horses to go through the forest.” Abigail nodded, following Aleksander down the hay-covered hallway. Horses whinnied and there was the stomping and fluttering of tails. They reached Harlow’s stall and Aleksander pulled on the door to let the broad horse out.

“Here,” he grunted as he lifted Abigail onto her horse and then helped her buckle the helmet.

 “Thank you!” She cried, riding out from the stall. Aleksander began taking the trek back through the barn and cleaning them out while Abigail nudged her heels into Harlow’s legs and took off in a trot. When she entered the snow covered pasture, she let Harlow have free reign. The horse took off in speedy run and Abigail felt herself begin to fly. The sound of the horse’s hooves beating against the ground and the crisp winter air in her face created a beautiful symphony.

After about thirty minutes of riding, Abigail decided to take Harlow back and brush her. It was growing cold. Although she was used to the cold in Minnesota, Maryland cold was different. Entering the stables, she dismounted Harlow and guided her back into the stall.

“You’re an excellent rider, Abigail.” Dr. Lecter’s voice sulked into the stall as Abigail was removing the saddle.

“Thank you. It’s enjoyable.” She brushed off the dusting of snow on Harlow’s back and then reached into the nearby bucket for the blue plastic handled brush.

“However, it was a poor decision to go riding by yourself. You could have been hurt.” Hannibal opened the door. Harlow whinnied loudly and stepped back, nearly up against the wall.

“I’m glad Will called. I expected no more from him. I asked him if he wanted to join, but he’s busy with a case. So I called Aleksander and asked if I could come up by myself. He had no problem with it. Do you?” She looked up from the brushing of Harlow’s high leg, and straight into the dead center of Dr. Lecter’s eyes.

“A lot of people care for you. Do you still believe no one will protect you?” Dressed in a tan, wool pea coat, Hannibal seemed warm. He also wore deep brown leather gloves, navy slacks and brown boots. Possibly riding boots.

“No. I know Dr. Bloom can protect me. And Will. He cares for me. We talked about it.” Hannibal approached Abigail, the space between them growing thin as her back reached the wall.

“Like I said, many people care for you. You’re very important, Abigail. You’re necessary to many people. And their lives.” Reaching towards her, Hannibal felt the exposed scar along the center of her neck. She closed her eyes at the tenderness of his touch.

“I am still keeping the promise I made,” Abigail spoke, pushing past Hannibal and resuming her brushing.

“I’m glad to hear that. Now, do you want to come to my house for dinner tonight? Dr. Bloom will be there, along with Will. It’s going to be a small party.”

“As long as I’m actually present and not the main dish, then I’d be happy to attend.” Abigail was able to match the wit of the psychiatrist easily.

“Very well. Please dress nice. No pants. Wear a dress. Don’t you own a nice dress?” Abigail blew upwards with her mouth, a fallen piece of hair floating upwards.

“Of course I do. I’m just never invited to anything. So I will break out this dress for tonight.” Hannibal drew a smile across his face; no teeth were involved.

“Eight o’clock. I think you’ll enjoy your night very much.” His hair was seeming to thin as time and time went by

“Perfect.” That was the last time she ever said that word.

***

“Good evening, Will, Abigail.” Dr. Lecter greeted the pair, taking their thick coats. Will placed his hand lightly on the small of Abigail’s back as Hannibal invited them into the darkly painted dining room.

“You look lovely this evening, Abigail.” Hannibal turned as he was walking, dressed in a well-fitting, most likely expensive tuxedo. He smiled down at her slender body, decorated finely in a plum, floor length dress. It covered modesty from her collarbones and swept across her shoulders in a thick, tanktop-like style. However, when Abigail paused to whisper something, Hannibal’s eyes fall down her back and see that the flattering purple dress was backless. Her hair was pinned up high and he could see the delicate freckles creating a beautiful puzzle.

Hannibal created a lovely atmosphere for his guests, a small intimate party of four. He sat at the head of the table, while, to his surprise, Will sat with Alana, leaving Abigail to Hannibal’s immediate right.

“Will, how are your dogs?” Dr. Lecter sliced into the rich prime rib infused with a rosemary sauce. Tri-colored quinoa was served as a side dish accompanied by sugar snap peas with a maple glaze. Abigail focused mainly on the peas and quinoa. Meat seemed to make her nauseous.

“They’re good. I adopted another stray. Her name’s Winnie. She’s a grey pit bull, I believe. It’s not taken long for the others to get used to her.” Will’s downturned mouth quickly changed into a genuine smile. “It’s just been hard without Barton. He must have been hit by a car or something because he came back so injured I had to take him out back and shoot him.”

The color drained from Abigail’s face, a memory of a moment shared with her father displayed in her mind. The group noticed the terror painted on her like a piece of abstract art and Will began to stand. However, Abigail was already out of her chair, the train of her dress taut in her hand as she scurried out of the dining room. Hannibal raised a hand to both Alana and Will as they seemed genuinely concerned for the young woman.

“Abigail?” He couldn’t seem to find her. He looked in the expansive kitchen, down the hallway to his living room and then to his study. Nothing. Then, he heard the sound of rapid breathing. It was frantic, perhaps a panic attack. Entering the dimly lit hallway from his study, Hannibal drew closer to the sound.

“Abigail?” It was from the bathroom.

“G- G- Go… Go away.” She struggled to get the words out.

“You’re having a panic attack. Let me in.” The dark wooden door didn’t open as he tried the handle. Hannibal dreaded having to break down the door. However, the girl was clearly in hysterics and he didn’t want her injured or anything precious being damaged in the bathroom.

“Dr. Lec- Lecter, I- I, I am f-f-f-f-f-f-ine.” Hannibal wasn’t standing around any longer. He thrust his body fully and without regret against the door. It didn’t come down. His long stringy hair was now in his face and his tuxedo was growing tight. Sweat poured down him. Then, a small ‘click’ sound echoed in the hallway and he knew she had allowed him access. Opening the door, he closed it directly behind him. Abigail was on the closed toilet seat, hands over her ears rocking back and forth. There was vomit in the trash can in front of her.

_What a waste of food._

“It was an image of your father, yes?” He approached the woman shaking in the main floor bathroom. She looked up at the doctor, lips quivering.

“Making me shoot our dog, Big.” That was all she spoke. Her hands fell down from her ears into her lap and she sat with poise and grace. Her spine was protruding and so were the bones in her shoulders. There was not a bite of food that seemed to stay on her body.

“I’ve never owned a pet. Not once.” Dr. Lecter rotated himself and began to wash his hands, looking himself directly in the eyes. Dark and sharp.

“Big was my only pet. Dad said we didn’t have time for them. The only pets I had were the deer. They were all so beautiful. He treated them well. They were pets, and some were even friends. However, they eventually became food.” Hannibal understood how friends could easily become a main course. Or even an entire meal.

The pair sat in silence for a long time. Abigail spoke softly.

“I don’t want to see Dr. Bloom or Will. Especially Dr. Bloom. She’ll think I’m crazy.” Abigail stood up and smoothed her dress, her elongated neck displaying the scar with grace and vigor.

“I’ll send them home if you’d like. I can drive you back to your apartment after I’ve cleaned up. If you don’t mind.”

“You wash, I dry?” A slight smile spread across her face when Hannibal nodded his head at her offer.

***

In her elegant gown, Abigail Hobbs stood with a white dish towel and meticulously dried each and every item Dr. Hannibal Lecter handed her. They did the wine glasses first, then the water glasses. After that the plates, including salad and dessert. There was little to no talking between them.

“Do you ever have the urgent desire and need to kill?” Abigail questioned him.

“Good things come to those who wait, Abigail.” He handed her a salad fork and she rubbed the sparkling silver gently as she thought.

“I look at objects and picture how I can bring someone pain.” She held the fork up to the light, checking for spots.

“You are hungry for power. It’s not unusual. You’re young. You’ve never had this sort of role. This independence. Freedom from control.” Dr. Lecter was behind her then, his hand pulling down Abigail’s from the light.

“I’ve always had freedom. Just not in this way.” She looked back down at the fork, now flattened under her hand; Dr. Lecter’s is gripping her palm.

“Abigail, I want you to turn and look at me.” She obeys and now she is standing in the middle of his kitchen, fork no longer in her hand. Her hair has fallen out, soft tendrils crawling down her back from the updo it was previously done in. Hannibal’s tuxedo jacket was folded neatly over a bar stool on the other side of the island. He still donned a vest, but his shirt sleeves were rolled.

“Do you fear me?” He asked bluntly, eyes stoic, lips pursed.

“More than you’ll ever know. However, fear is the ultimate motivator, Dr. Lecter. It keeps us reaching for the stars and climbing from our demons.” She raised an eyebrow. This intellectually challenging game would soon grow fun. It was already arousing for at least one of the pair.

“Do you want to fear me?” His hand reached out and touched the scar on her neck. The one he caused. The pain she endured at his expense. A price to be paid.

“Yes. Do you want to fear me?” She makes the next move: removing his hand from her neck. She hates it. It’s a hideous defect.

“Yes. And I do fear you. I feel as if I cannot trust you at times, Abigail. You must know how important trusting you is. I must trust you, now.” She realizes he is coyly displaying his vulnerability to her. However, she knew he was always vulnerable.

“Why do you think I wanted Will and Dr. Bloom gone?” She stepped closer to him, his eyes looking downwards upon her, his mountainous cheekbones giving her face a soft shadow. “I wanted to be alone with you. Because we fear each other. Without the fear, there is no trust.” She reaches upwards and tenderly touches his cheek with her elegant fingers. Her skin is cool, but soft, an innocent moment shared. His eyes close, and his hands find her slender waist and around to her exposed back.

“Dr. Lecter,” she whispers, and he opens his eyes.

“If you’re going to kill me, now would be the time. Or would you rather wait until I’ve placed my lips upon yours?”

“I don’t have any intention of killing you, Abigail. Not at the moment.” 

She pulled herself upwards and her fingers found their way to his neck. The silkiness of his hair made it difficult for her to grip, but she managed to hold herself on her tiptoes. Hannibal couldn’t kiss her. It would makes things messy. He may end up having to kill her. She was too important to him, though.

Their lips met with a tenderness only true lovers would know. His eyebrows were knitted together with passion as he felt the truest woman press herself against him. Her lips were plush and wet; they fit with his surprisingly well. Pulling away, Abigail wiped her lips.

“Take me home,” she said, lifting her dress up and walking towards the entryway.

“You’re not in control here, Abigail. I’m still you psychiatrist. What I say is what goes. Do you understand?” She wasn’t expecting this reaction from him. She upset him. Hannibal Lecter handles this well. He came at her, a fury in his eyes and took her in his arms, pushing her flush against the wall. A breath of air disappears from her body and he angrily pushes his mouth against hers. He’s hungry; for passion, for intimacy. For everything but love. He’s incapable of loving.

Abigail is too.

***

He drives her home. They haven’t kissed since the hallway. They silently agree upon this.

“Thank you for dinner. It was lovely. I’ll see you at my session on Thursday.” She began to get out of the Bentley, but Hannibal’s grip clutched her just above the elbow.

“Don’t go riding alone.” He releases her.

Abigail gets up to her apartment and strips out of the dress immediately. It’s late. Almost one in the morning. She needs to get up early the next morning and get groceries. She has two bottles of ketchup, a box of Raisin Bran and Cheez Wiz. She has no desire to eat any of those. Abigail wore not a single piece of clothing beneath her dress. It was too tight for that. She was able to pull on a pair of black briefs, simple, yet shapely to her. She slipped on an oversized maroon University of Maryland BALTIMORE t-shirt and attempted to pull down her hair. As her bare feet slapped the aged hard wood floor, someone buzzed for her. She tiptoed to the window and peeked out to see Will Graham clutching a box of doughnuts with two coffees upon it. She let him in and waited for his entrance.

“Hi.” He said, entering and then shutting the door behind him. He was dressed in a normal set of clothes; jeans, LL Bean boots and a navy and emerald flannel shirt. His glasses were tucked into his pocket.

“Hi. I kissed Hannibal.” She blurted it out before she even realized what she had said.

“Curiosity killed the cat.” He comments snidely, handing her a cup of coffee. She waves her hand and thanks him for the offer.

“I need to sleep soon. You’re welcome to crash here, though.” He slipped the box of doughnuts onto her coffee table and collapses on the couch. As she begins to tidy up the living room, her t-shirt slips upward, showing the slightest bit of her panties. Her two moon crescents are peeking out, and Will found himself aroused at this. He stands, approaching her. He had too much to drink and it interferes with his medication, making him think blurrily.

“I can set up the sofa so you-

Will kisses her. Not softly. Not even in the slightest.

This is angry. Revengeful. He’s jealous. His manipulator took his most prized possession.

“Will, I-

He pulled away, anticipating her response. However, her eyes filled with lust and she lunged at him. Her hands fell through his wavy, bushy hair and his glasses clatter to the ground. Falling against things, they begin to laugh.

Her t-shirt comes off and so does his flannel. His chest has coarse, curly hair running over the top half and his sternum. She kissed downward and licks around his belly button, laughing. Abigail tugs at his jeans, untying his boots. She falls to the floor, topless. Laughter filled the air and Will graciously helped her up. Abigail stood before Will, slender, bony frame exposed. Her breasts are small, her nipples round and pink, like a baby’s face the second before crying. The space between them is narrow and filled by her sternum, a direction to her navel, where Will finds his hands. He takes both index fingers and hooks them into the waistband of her panties. In one smooth motion, her panties are on the floor and she is straddling him. She kisses him, hungrily and with passion. She hadn’t slept with anyone in a long time. Neither had Will. Turning over, Will is on top. He slips down his jeans and grey boxer-briefs, displaying himself for her. She takes him in her hands and guides him to her.

“Do you want me?” His head is bent towards hers, and intimate motion.

“Yes,” she whispers as she guides him inside of her. 


	4. Four

The doughnuts and coffee remained the next morning when Abigail awoke. It was late morning. Quickly, she showered off the smell of sex and Will and dressed in pair of black leggings and the same maroon shirt that spent the night on her bedroom floor.

Will laid sprawled under her bed sheet, still naked. Abigail began to finish her cleaning from the night before.

“Morning,” His deep voice startled her, and she blew it off. Abigail was always jumpy. 

“Did you sleep well?” She asked, genuinely curious. She slept like a baby. 

“Yeah. I did. I need to go. I have to work on that case.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, reaching into the box for a doughnut. He took a bite, dressed only in his grey boxer briefs. 

“That’s fine.” He walked into her bedroom, pulling on his clothes from the night before. 

“I’ll see you later.” He kissed her quickly on the lips; it was unexpected. Abigail was not the “goodbye kiss” kind of woman. Looking down, she noticed Will’s glasses on the floor. She ran after him, down the stairs and stopped him in the doorway of her building. 

“You forgot your glasses.” She slips them into his pocket and he smiles at her. She touches his hand tenderly, attempting to feel something.  
The sex was great. However, to her, it was meaningless. An orgasm is an orgasm. It didn’t make it love.  
***  
Hannibal stood in front of his black Bentley with a pair of crystal chandelier earrings tucked tightly in his hand. Will Graham had just left Abigail’s apartment. He knew. Of course he knew.   
***  
When Thursday rolled around, so did a snow storm. The wind chill was in the negatives and Abigail dreaded venturing to Dr. Lecter’s for a session. The Chesapeake Ripper had murdered again. This time the woman was found hung by fishing hooks in a Cod-processing warehouse near Chesapeake Bay. She was surprised Dr. Lecter didn’t call to cancel their appointment. He was usually brought in on that sort of thing. 

When she entered his office, Dr. Lecter was at the desk. He didn’t look up at her when she entered. He knew. 

“I thought I could trust you, Abigail.” 

“My indiscretions do not concern you, Dr. Lecter.” She removed her coat and began making a walk around the double-floored room. 

“They shouldn’t. However, they do. Do you know why?” He was now standing, leaned against his desk in a black pin-striped suit, red shirt and an indigo paisley tie. 

“If you can’t trust me in a monogamous relationship, how can you trust me to keep your secret?” As she spun around and faced him from across the room, she noticed he had recently received a haircut. 

“Precisely.” With a sick, twisted sense of pride, Dr. Lecter walked to the doors of his office and closed them, locking them with the flick of a wrist. 

“Your new haircut suits you well.” She allowed herself to feel the spines of all the books on his shelves. It was one of her favorite activities. “Long hair became an interference with my cooking. Also, unsanitary. Why did you have a sexual relationship with Will?” Abigail had been fearing that question. 

“I wanted to feel something.” Hannibal tucked his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket and strolled slowly towards Abigail. She noticed this. 

“You can feel plenty of things. Remember our exercise a few weeks ago you when felt the snow?” She smiled softly at this memory. Abigail could almost feel the chilled air in her lungs. Hannibal was getting closer. 

“I’ve been wanting to sleep with him for some time, Dr. Lecter. So I did it.” Abigail stepped in front of the ladder, debating whether or not to climb up to the second floor. Suddenly, Hannibal’s hand found its way to the ladder railing, blocking her from the ability to change levels. 

“Acting on impulse is unsafe and shows instability.” His face inches from hers, Abigail could feel the heat radiating from him. 

“I believe you are accurately describing yourself, Dr. Lecter. It seems as if you're the unstable subject in this situation. Two adults are allowed to have a sexual relationship. If you desired one from me, you should have let your motives be known.” Abigail put her hands around Hannibal’s neck and pulled him to her. He kissed her heatedly. These kisses were different. Sharp, painful. Similar to a knife in the back. There was anger, resentment, hatred. 

"You know precisely what my motives are, Abigail." 

Indeed she did. 


	5. Five

Abigail arrived at Hannibal’s house the next morning. He was preparing breakfast. However, he was not dressed as her normally was. Simply, he wore a white button down shirt, khaki’s and a pair of brown leather dress shoes. There was a basic elegance to his outfit.

“Good morning,” He smiled at her as she entered the kitchen. “How are you feeling?” He was bent over the island, kneading dough. Abigail peered in the oven; avocados with eggs resting in them sat in a glass pan.

“I’m fine. And you?” She ran her hand along his back, with tenderness.

“I’m content. I have two appointments this afternoon, but you are more than welcome to stay here during the day. I’d like us to go out this evening. I’ve secured two tickets for the opera, Duke Bluebeard’s Castle. I’ve been looking forward to it.” He rolled out the dough.

“That shouldn’t be a problem… Except the only fancy dress I’ve got is the one from two nights ago…” Hannibal paused, his hands in flour.

“There’s one in my closet… It should suit you well. However, it might be large on you.” He wiped his hands on the white apron tied across his belt line and excused himself. Abigail slipped off her thick coat and positioned it over a barstool next to where she stood. That morning she was dressed warmly in a chunky knit grey turtleneck, black jeans and a pair of black equestrian boots.

“Here we are,” Dr. Lecter reappeared with a black garment bag in his hand. His eyes seemed to sparkle with anticipation as he unzipped. Crème colored fabric poured out of the bag and jewels seemed to light up the room. Abigail’s eyes became wide as she approached it.

“It’s…… It’s gorgeous.” She put her hand out, running her slender fingers along the jeweled V-neck. The neckline fell into straps that rested off the shoulder. Crème ruched fabric decorated the chest and a band of clear jewels stripped below the breasts.

“I can’t wear this, Dr. Lecter.” She meant it. It was far too elaborate for her. “It’s too much for me. It won’t look right. It was meant for another woman.”

Hannibal nodded.

“It was indeed meant for a woman. However, it was truly meant for you. Take the gift I’m offering, Abigail. I am a man who sleeps with solace; I am a creature that dwells on being alone. I didn’t have to get another ticket for this evening, but I did. Accept this gift.” His sparkling eyes at once turned crimson and dark. She had no choice but to accept his offer. Anything else would be rude.

And Abigail knew what Hannibal did to those who crossed him.

***

Dr. Lecter opened the door to his black Bentley and held out a hand for Abigail as she stepped in. Snow was falling yet again in the Baltimore neighborhood. Hannibal’s house stood lit, his car in the garage nestled next to the home. She wore the crème dress, a gorgeous fur coat on top to keep her warm. Her hair was done in soft waves; her hair had grown long. She needed a cut. Hannibal dressed in a tuxedo, a grey, knee-length, fur-lined coat up top.

Slipping himself out of the car to allow valet to park it, Hannibal came around and offered his arm for the young woman. The opera house was elaborate. Gold and red hues accented the ancient building, snow dusted the cement steps leading to the entry way. Walking inside, Hannibal kept his head up straight, allowing an older gentleman to take his coat. Abigail’s coat was slipped off by Hannibal; he took her sweet scent in as her back was to him.

There were several conversations before the start of the opera. A glass of champagne for himself. Abigail declined despite her age. Although she could legally drink, alcohol never seemed to satisfy the young woman, except for the occasional glass of red wine.

She kept a stiff smile on her face, her arm looped through Hannibal’s. The conversations bored her. Ignoring most of them, she focused on the art in the lobby of the opera hall. Her shoulders were exposed and she felt cool air on them. Looking down, she caught a glimpse of her breasts. They were protruding from the deep cut in the dress, her sternum the center.

“This is a friend of mine, Abigail.” Her name was said and she darted her eyes up to the couple across from her. An older gentleman and a woman around the same age smiled down. The woman was tanned and wrinkling. However, she had a bright set of teeth and a rich diamond necklace around her thin neck. Her beauty was classic Hollywood, reborn. Hair, black and done in finger waves, her lips a rich berry color and her dress, a black lace mermaid gown with three quarter length sleeves. Her voluptuous breasts nearly poured out of the gown.

The man, who seemed to be a foot taller than the woman, wore a grey tuxedo with a purple velvet bow tie. Resting on his nose, he wore tortoise-shell glasses, which reflected the light in the opera house. He had no hair, either completed shaved or the cause of poor genetics. The man seemed enamored with the pair in front of him, showing little to no interest in his wife. His hands remained in front of his waist, never leaving to gesture when he talked. Finally after a few moments, he introduced himself. There was something about this man that made Abigail uncomfortable.

“Milton Grady.” The man extended his hand to take Abigail’s, pulling it up to kiss the soft back of her hand.

 “I’m Elena. It’s nice to meet you, Abigail.” His wife stepped forward and kissed Abigail on the cheek and then retracted politely.  The woman turned and allowed Hannibal to kiss her cheek.

“Milton and Elena have been good friends of mine for years. It is here or at Milton’s art galas that we bump into each other.” Hannibal took Abigail’s hand and held it close to his thigh.

“Always a pleasure, Hannibal. It was a pleasure to meet you, my dear.” The older man let his eyes linger on Abigail and Dr. Lecter blocked his image by standing in front of her.

“Did Milton make you uncomfortable?” He asked of her, taking her hand by his pant leg. He traced his index finger along the outer edge of Abigail’s with intimacy.

“No. He just… I don’t know. I felt something about him.” The psychiatrist nodded and the lights dimmed three times.

“That’s us,” She commented, allowing Hannibal to walk in front of her, leading the way.

The pair settled into seats precisely in the middle of the opera house. Hannibal mentioned that the acoustics would be best in this spot. Opening her playbill and libretto, Abigail touches Hannibal’s hand softly to get his attention. 

“There’s only one act… Don’t operas usually have more than one act?” Her blue eyes widened with enthused curiosity.

“Typically. However, this a 20th century opera. It was based off of the French Tale “Le Barbe bleue.” Béla Bartók composed the opera. I think it will be beautiful. I’ve seen it once before.” The lights dimmed and silence blanketed the audience.

***

“Wine?” Hannibal rested a large curved glass in the hook between Abigail’s index and middle finger. She pressed her nose inside the opening of the glass, inhaling with fullness. She let out a soft moan of pleasure. Hannibal took notice of this wine and made a mental note to keep this around. The pair grew silent, sitting in the lavish, well-decorated living room of Hannibal’s home.

“How did you meet Milton and Elena Grady?” Loosening his tie, Hannibal put one leg over the other.

“He’s an artist. I bought several paintings and sculptures from him when he was first coming about. Milton’s work is magnificent. If only he could do something about Elena… What a sad soul…” He seemed to drift for a moment. “From then on, I tried to get new artwork of his every few years. My favorite of which is hanging above the mantle.” He gestures with an open hand to the exquisite and massive abstract painting. Mostly in a deep, oxblood, there are also brush strokes of several other colors. All of which are dark. The painting brings out color in the dark room. It is the centerpiece.

“It’s beautiful.” Abigail stands to get a closer look at it while also approaching the burning fire to warm herself up.

“I’ve actually been meaning to call him. I would like to replace some older pieces of his with more recent ones.” Hannibal curled his fingers into a half-fist, glancing at the beds of his nails like Narcisiss. Abigail walked over, lifting the train of her dress, and sat softly next to Hannibal on the deep, grey love seat.

“What do you fear the most?” She asked quietly, almost a whisper. Her eyes focused on her hands, folded inside one another. There was no going back after she asked the question.

“I fear everything and nothing, Abigail. All at once.” 


	6. Six

Christmas came and went, followed suddenly by the New Year. Classes soon started for Abigail and she was consumed again. Her sessions became more frequent. Twice a week. Mondays and Thursdays after her afternoon classes. Hannibal cooked dinner for the two of them, sharing meals and the quiet atmosphere.

One Tuesday morning after a session with Dr. Lecter, Abigail had a hallucination. She was showering in her apartment, washing her hair when her father appeared in front of her, holding the head of one of his victims. Screaming, she fell from the shower, slicing her forearm open on the edge of the door. The curtain came down with her, blood coating the mint-colored plastic sheet.

Wrapping her arm tightly, she called Dr. Lecter. Will was consumed with a case and only called when he had time. It was usually three times a week. They had dinner every Sunday night at his house, no matter what was going on.

“Abigail?”

 “I fell out of the shower and cut my arm really bad… What do I do? I tried to stop the bleeding.” She heard him inhale sharply through the phone and then asking someone to be quiet in the background.

“You need to wrap it as tightly as possible, Abigail. Drive yourself to the hospital as best as you can. I’m with Milton right now, but I will meet you at the hospital. Keep pressure on it.” She ended the call, letting her cellphone drop to the floor, not bothering to pick it up. She wrapped an old towel around right wrist, gripping it as tight as she could withstand.

The drive to the hospital was difficult. The roads were snow packed and she seemed to hit every red light. Finally pulling into a spot, she hurried into the brick building, a nurse greeting her.

“I fell out of the shower and cut myself… I think I need stitches.” The woman in pale blue scrubs led Abigail to a bed, drawing the curtain around the two. She asked simple questions such as what medications she was taking, what she was allergic to and her medical history.

“Dr. Rawlins will be in shortly.” Abigail nodded tersely; her arm had finally stopped spurting blood. The flesh was sliced cleanly. Neat edges. Muscle and adipose exposed, a small line of gold bubbling between layers.

“Abigail,” Hannibal exhaled as he pushed through the curtain, hurriedly wrapping his arm around her head, pulling it to his chest.

“Thank you for coming.” She meant it. She needed him there to hear the reason for her accident. As Hannibal sat at her side, looking at the injury, a shadow lingered just outside the curtain. After just a glimpse, Abigail realized the psychiatrist brought along a guest.

“Why is he here?” She was angry that Hannibal hadn’t come alone. There wasn’t room for anyone else. Nor did she want anyone else. Possibly Will, however, he was preoccupied.

“He and I were in the car to lunch when you called. I am terribly sorry. There wasn’t time to drop Milton off. He was concerned for you, also. Milton, will you come in?” The man stepped through the curtain, his shaved head shining in the light.

“Abigail, how are you feeling?” He approached her, a glare on his glasses giving his eyes a black color.

“I’m exhausted, light-headed and a little nauseous.” It was true. She felt as if she might vomit; it was most likely from the pain.

“Did you hit your head?” Hannibal asked, lips sticking together in the corners as he spoke.

“No. I don’t think so. I…. I saw my dad. He was there.” With her free arm, Abigail buried her face in her palm. Milton stood at the corner of her bed, his hoop earring brightly shimmering light as he nervously moved. His attention was directed towards the black iPhone in his hand.

“Have you had any nightmares recently?” She had to think about Hannibal’s question.

“Actually, no. I had just been washing my hair, thinking about maybe going riding again. Then I imagined myself in the forest and saw myself back Duluth, shooting and killing again. This time it wasn’t a deer. Then I saw my dad....." She seemed silently distraught. "Hannibal, will this ever stop?” She was scared; terrified, actually.

“My dear, there will come a time when those visions stop. Your father is dead, Abigail. He is dead. Very much so.” Hannibal stood, seeing as the small space was being occupied by yet another person. A petite woman with apricot skin introduced herself, smiling and sat on the moving stool to Abigail’s right.

“Hello…..” The woman reached for Abigail’s chart on the wheeling metal tray behind her. “Abigail. I’m Lara. I’m a PA and I’ll be doing your sutures. Have you ever received stitches before?”

There were always formalities. Abigail hated them. Oh so much.

***

To her luck, Abigail only needed fourteen stitches to put her arm back together. However, that hindered her plans to go riding. Leaving the hospital, Hannibal offered to drive Abigail back to her apartment in her car, and have Milton drive his car back home. She had a bottle of hydrocodone in her purse and two extra rolls of gauze in addition to the fresh wrapping on her arm.

“I don’t think that’s necessary. I can drive myself. Besides I don't want you to have to take a taxi back home.” He shook his head at her.

“Nonsense. Let me go talk to Milton.” Hannibal left Abigail resting by the silver Honda Accord, his footsteps echoing against the cold brick building. She could hear their conversation. It wasn’t much. Milton began walking rapidly towards Abigail, but Hannibal’s long fingers wrapped around the man’s bicep. He pulled Grady back with a lurch and pulled Milton’s face close to his own. Something was mumbled. Abigail couldn’t figure out why her name had even come up in that conversation. However, Milton stepped into a silver BMW sports car and drove off after a few more words with Hannibal.

Slicking back his hair and pulling at the length of his navy plaid suit jacket, Hannibal approached the injured girl.

“You’re too heavily medicated to drive, Abigail. You’ll need someone to drive you home. I could call Milton back and have him drive you, if you prefer?” He was challenging her. She didn’t like it.

“Fine.” She crossed her arms she walked around the side of her car and winced after she remembered the injury.

Her thinking was fuzzy, like she was nestled in a warm blanket. Getting in the car, Abigail allowed herself to lean the seat back slightly and cushion herself in the hood of her sweatshirt. Sleep seemed to come easy for her, as when she woke up, she was already in bed. Her own bed was adorned with an extra blanket and pillow to rest her arm on.

“Hello?” Was anyone there? Darkness had fallen over her bedroom. It must have been late. Footsteps approached the bedroom, and a shadow painted over the light from the hallway.

“Hello Abigail. Can I fetch you something?” She licked her lips, trying still to adjust to her surroundings.

“Uh… Water. Please.” As Hannibal left, Abigail realized he had removed his shoes, his jacket and his tie. His sleeves were rolled up. When he returned with a glass of water, she noticed he smelled peculiar.

“What have you been doing while I’ve been asleep?” He chuckled, teeth showing slightly.

“Cleaning. I do apologize. Your apartment is very clean, it’s just that dishes need to be done and you had quite a bit of blood in your bathroom. I also ran out and purchased you a new shower curtain.” She blushed. She was embarrassed and the redness in her cheeks gave that away without a doubt.

“Thank you. Truly. I am indebted to you.” She meant it. She was indebted.

“No, Abigail. It is what friends do for one another. I’d expect you to do the same for me. I know you will.” He seemed to narrow his eyes downwards at her, emphasizing the “know.” It was meant as a threat. There was a storm coming. 


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments. It's been such a fun piece to work on and I find myself thinking about what turn I'll take constantly throughout the day. Recommend this fic to any Hannibal lover and PLEASE leave comments. I want to write what you want as well as what I want. So let me know if you'd like to see something different. Please follow me on Tumblr to see some awesome Hannibal posts and other fun things. www.theonehewaitsfor.tumblr.com  
> Y'all rock.

Will called the next morning. It was a Wednesday and she had class in thirty minutes. There was no possible way she could attend class. Her arm hurt and she was still a little shaky. Abigail woke up groggily when she heard the ringing of her cellphone. She still had a flip phone. Honestly, she didn’t believe in needing a cellphone. Really no friends or family to call.

“Hey Will.”

“Busy? I’ve got this case and I really need to clear my head.” He seemed more scattered than normal.

“No. I just woke up. I had an accident and had to go to the hospital yesterday, so I’m kind of groggy from my medication. Go ahead and come over. I’ll shower and get dressed.”

After agreeing upon that arrangement, Abigail realized that she would have to shower again. She feared falling or worse; seeing her father again. She chanted to herself softly.

“He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.” She meant it as a mantra for both her father and Nicholas Boyle.

After her brief shower, she changed the dressing on her forearm and dragged a pale blue crewneck sweatshirt over her sore body. On her legs she wore a pair of fleece-lined running leggings and a pair of Nike tennis shoes. Even though she didn’t plan on leaving her apartment, she wanted to seem presentable and put together.

She buzzed Will in and he came up, two coffees in his hands. He stripped off the tan jacket, revealing a grey turtleneck and his brown corduroy’s. He wore a pair of brown hiking boots, suitable for the snow that still lingered in the area.

“What happened?” He asked, planting a kiss sternly on her forehead; a friendly and loving move.

“I saw my dad while I was in the shower and I slipped and sliced open my arm. Hannibal seems to be upset with me. I know it’s been two years. I still see him. And Nicholas Boyle. How can I not? They haunt me.” Will took her arm and led her to the sofa. They sat, looking forward, hands intertwined.

“I still see your father. I see myself shooting him. However, this is different. This a different sight. You’re there now. You never were before. Our relationship has changed and so have my visions.” He then turned towards her, dropping his eyes. “There’s a new case. It’s a man. He appears to be taking only certain pieces of a woman’s body and…. And putting them in art. They’re usually on canvases, sometimes there are sculptures. He hangs them in different galleries all around New York City. I actually have to fly out this evening. I can’t… I don’t. I just, don’t understand this. There’s a clear sign that he’s wanting to do this publicly. He wants to be seen. He’s doing it for the attention. I just…. I can’t figure out his motive.” He sluffs his hair back, exhaling with frustration.

“Are you having trouble placing yourself in his shoes?” Abigail asks, her finger rubbing against hers; her piercing blue eyes are warm and calm at this time. He glances downward towards their hands. He hates eye contact; Abigail knows this.

“I don’t see him. There’s something getting in the way. It’s a problem that the bodies aren’t all there. That’s what the problem is.” He gets up, unlacing his fingers from hers, and begins to pace.

“Do you know who the victims are? What they look like?” Abigail questions, watching Will walk back and forth across the small living room.

“They’re all women. They however, range in age, ethnicity… There doesn’t seem to be a pattern there. It depends on his artwork. Depends on the…. Color scheme.” Will looks sick at the thought that this serial killer is using women as pieces of art.

“Will, sit down. Let me make you some tea. It will calm you down. Turn on the TV. Or we can put something in.” She walked to the kitchen, the reflectors on her shoes catching the sunlight and temporarily disrupting her vision. “What kind of tea do you want? I have chai, chamomile, earl grey, a red vanilla…” She waited patiently for his response.

“Earl Grey.” She pulled out a mug from the cabinet above the stove and filled it to the brim with water from her sink. Above her white porcelain sink was a small window that overlooked the brick road. The snow was finally beginning to melt. She had a small pot which at one time held a succulent. When she purchased the plant, the store owner told her it was impossible to kill.

Abigail managed to kill the plant in two weeks. She was sad, it was the only living thing in the apartment besides herself. She made a mental note to go down to the animal shelter and adopt a cat.

Putting the mug in the microwave, she filled her own mug, one with a gold “A” painted on, and filled it with water. Abigail needed to wash a few dishes, but she was planning on putting it off until her laceration healed.

“Will, your tea’s ready.” Removing the mug from the microwave, she placed a bag inside the cup and let it sink to the bottom. Instantly, the color began to warm and darken. The water changed rapidly and after a few moments, he came into the kitchen to retrieve the mug. Abigail made herself a cup of tea. She selected chai.

The pair sat on the sofa next to each other, sharing a knitted blanket, and watched The Golden Girls all while sipping their tea. Out of nowhere, Will tossed the blanket up and sat down his tea.

“I’ve got to go.” The sudden determination in his voice was clear when he turned to look at her. Pausing momentarily, he kissed Abigail fully on the lips, threw his jacket over his shoulder and ran out of the apartment.

***                       

“Have you had anymore nightmares or visions, Abigail?” Dr. Lecter sat with perfect posture.

“No. I’ve been working on my exercises, like we’ve practiced. Mostly the breathing ones. Also, where I close my eyes and picture my apartment and where I’m at. I visualize it, and then open my eyes. There isn’t anyone there and there won’t be.” She wasn’t lying. Abigail had gone two weeks without seeing anything or anyone.

“That’s wonderful, Abigail. I told you progress would be made.”

“Do you ever have visions? Er…. See anyone?” She began to fiddle with her hair.

“I myself do not. It is because I’ve had many years of practice. Also, I work with patients everyday who have visions. Thus, the recurring trauma in my patients has not allowed my psyche to produce visions.”  He remained composed, hands folded neatly together in his lap.

“You’ve never had anything traumatic happen in your life, though?” The question was a soft prod; an attempt to peel back his layers.

“If nothing traumatic had ever happened in my life, I believe I would never have found myself helping those who have. Especially you.”

“Were you always in psychiatry?”

“No. I was an emergency room physician. That was long ago and many lives were lost in my hands. The career was not simple and therefore, too much stress for myself.” The conversation was growing to be more invigorating on Dr. Lecter, and he seemed to tolerate it.

“So, you don’t miss that?” She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees; her hair swung down into her face.

“I believe it’s time to go and prepare dinner. Yes?”

***

As she was preparing the chicken, Abigail began to think aloud.

“I think I’m going to adopt a kitten.” Smiling, she sprinkled a bit of seasoning on the meat in front of her.

“An animal would help with bonding difficulties, also would help ease the loneliness that you may be experiencing in your apartment.” Hannibal was preparing pasta.

“I don’t have bonding difficulties and I surely am not lonely. I just want a cat. I killed my plant so I think it’ll be good.”

“You may not believe this, but have you asked yourself the reason why you want a cat? Perhaps some sense of responsibility. You still feel like a child, and are constantly being treated as such.” Hannibal had turned from the boiling water before him, glancing at the small-figured woman behind him. At once, Abigail slammed down her hands.

“You’re treated me like one. No one else is! I wonder why? Maybe it’s because you see me as one?” Livid, she began to untie the waist of the apron loaned to her earlier in the evening.

“Do you truly feel as if I am treating you like a child? My intent is not that.”

“It damn well seems like it. You were furious that I had hurt myself. That I was so clumsy that I could cut myself open. The real reason you treat me like a child is because you feel an attraction towards me. You’ve never felt this way for such a young woman. This is not natural to you. You’re furious at yourself for not being able to help with my traumatic visions. You feel as if you’ve failed me as a psychiatrist. Of course you’re treating me as a child. You can’t admit your true feelings, Hannibal.” Putting the apron on the counter, Abigail took hold of her coat draped over the barstool and began to quickly put it on.

“You seem to have psychoanalyzed me.  And called me Hannibal for the first time.” He reached out for Abigail, taking hold of her around the waist.

“Let go of me.”

“You’re not a child, Abigail. You’re very far from it.” He pulled her to him quickly, pressing his lips against hers. All was lost.

***

Kissing her passionately, Hannibal found his hands woven through Abigail’s thick hair. Her rapid breaths filled his ear and caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand. He picked her up in his arms suddenly and began carrying her up the stairs.

“Hannibal…”

“Yes?” He glided through the wide entrance of the kitchen and down the hall towards the rich, dark wooden stairs.

“Nothing,” she mumbled, burying her face into his neck, kissing it softly.

They made it into a dark room, where Hannibal mumbled something and Abigail felt her body slip onto a plush surface. There was no light in the room, until suddenly there was a click and a low lamp light flooded the room. Approaching her, Hannibal smiled down, teeth covered by thin lips.

“Do you want this, Abigail? Do you want me?” Sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed, Hannibal took his index finger and slid a lock of Abigail’s hair from her face.

“Yes,” She reached out her hand, tenderly touching the aged cheek in her palm. He leaned down, kissing her tenderly. He soon began to slip off articles of her clothing, one by one. Passionately and softly, he finally came to only her bra and panties, himself still fully dressed. He began stripping down, then standing in just his dress pants, bare feet and all.  She reached out and took ahold of Hannibal’s belt, pulling him towards her. Undoing the belt, she whipped it out of his pants and lightly tossed it into the velvet chair next to Hannibal’s bed. As she unzipped his trousers, his hand wove its way through her hair. Her skin was soft as he caressed her cheek and finally stood before him in a pair of silk boxers.  

“I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I don’t usually hold sessions in my undergarments, no.”  Hannibal walked around the other side of the bed and slipped himself under the thick down comforter tucked in a rich plum duvet cover.

“Hannibal…..” She seemed hesitant suddenly.

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to do this. I’m not ready.”

“Are you sure? Is it the sexual contact or the intimacy? I am guessing it’s the intimacy. You and Will seem to not fit into the intimate category.” The harshness of his tone made Abigail more sure of her decision to the halt the encounter.

“Can I sleep here? I can leave if you’d prefer. It’s not a problem.”

“Do stay. It would be rude of me to ask you to leave. Be my guest and rest your head here.” Hannibal smoothed out Abigail’s hair over the pillow, kissing her lightly on the exposed scar revealed on her neck.

“I need something to wear…. Perhaps a t-shirt? I’d be much more comfortable without a bra.” She blushed a deep magenta, questions she was not comfortable asking.

“I’ll fetch you a shirt. I think I have a few left over.”

Reappearing a moment later, Hannibal clutched a plain white t-shirt, covered in paint.

“I wore this when remodeling my bathroom. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Thank you so much, Hannibal.” She shyly removed her bra before him, revealing her suddell womanhood. The small curvatures accented her body well, and she still had much form to them. They would not sag for a very long time. Even having children couldn’t speed up that process. She slipped the cotton form over her body and let it fall to skim the fat of her thighs.

“This is wonderful. Thank you.” She settled herself underneath the comforter, pulling it to her waist. Sprawling herself out, Abigail let her right arm rest above her head and her left lay comfortably under her breasts. Hannibal watched her fall into a slumber, her breathing slow and eventually become soft and steady. There was such an innocent and pure glow about the young woman. He was intellectually matched with her. If she crossed him, he would most certainly be forced to kill the girl. It pained him to come to this realization, especially as he watched her beauty in its most virginal form. He kissed her on the lips with delicacy and slid back over to his side of the bed, where he allowed himself to fall asleep after the difficult decision had made. 


	8. Eight

Stretching his arms out wide, Hannibal forgot there was a warm body next to him in bed. However, when he leaned over to touch the back of his female companion, there was an empty space. Standing, he blinked with heaviness, an attempt to get the haziness out of his eyes. He made his way over to the velvet chair and noticed his white, paint-stained t-shirt folded nicely. She left before he had awoken. Her clothes were nowhere to be found. However, there was a note on top of the t-shirt. It read:

_Hannibal,_

_I’m sorry I didn’t stay this morning. It would have made me very happy to wake up next to you. However, I had class and I wanted to shower beforehand. I will see you Thursday for our normal session. I’ll be riding after class, maybe I’ll see you?_

_Xoxo, A_

 

Furiously, Hannibal gripped the paper and crumbled it slightly. She couldn’t even bare to stay overnight with him. She was oddly terrified of the man. Maybe she was afraid he would slip a knife into her heart while she was sleeping.

It was a possibility.

Hannibal showered and then dressed himself for his day. He was particular about his shampoos and his body soaps. After rinsing every bit of his sculpted portrait, he stepped out and began putting his hair product in. Standing naked before the mirror, he analyzed his frame. Satisfied, he began to dress himself.

When he was complete, Hannibal Lecter stood in a black velvet suit, a gray paisley dress shirt and an evergreen corduroy tie. His telephone rang, and he made his way hurriedly down the stairs.

“This is Dr. Lecter,”

“Hello Dr. Lecter, it’s Milton Grady.”

“Milton, what can I help you with?”

“Your art is ready. It’s been brought down from New York.”

Hannibal rubbed his eyes, still a bit groggy from sleep.

“When could I pick them up, Milton?” He had only two sessions in the morning and one in the early afternoon. There would be time to pick up the canvases.

“Would you want to come over to the studio for a cup of coffee beforehand? And then I’ll help you get your pieces loaded? Say, around…. Three o’clock?” There was deep contemplation on both parties. Milton wanted coffee with Hannibal. Hannibal did not. He wanted his artwork, and his artwork alone.

“That should be fine. I will arrive at three o’clock this afternoon to join you for coffee.”

Moments later, Hannibal was downstairs in his kitchen, preparing himself a breakfast scramble, similar to the one he had prepared Will years earlier. He poured himself a tall glass of orange juice and winced at the bitter taste, forgetting he had just brushed his teeth. Eating slowly and reading the newspaper, Hannibal was following along with the story Will Graham was working on. Surprisingly, the media had yet to give the serial killer a nickname. Folding the paper in half, Hannibal could sense an imbalance in the air. Then, a scent wafted into his nostrils and Hannibal inhaled deeply.

AquaNet hairspray.

Inexpensive perfume.

An old suit jacket.

Patent leather.

Hannibal knew at once that he was not alone in his home. Standing slowly, he reached out and selected the large butcher’s knife resting next to the cutting board dusted with the ends of peppers and onions. Softly stepping, he pushed the hair back from his face and rounded the corner from his kitchen into the dining room.

The redheaded woman was standing in the doorway of his home office, sifting through papers on his desk. Luckily they were meaningless. Old bank statements and insurance paperwork.

“Hello Ms. Lounds.”

The young woman jumped, her curls bouncing after the reaction.

“Dr. Lecter! I was just getting ready to go into your living room in search of you!” She smiled with humiliation coloring her cheeks, her hand gripping the clutch at her hip.

“Now now, Ms. Lounds. It’s distasteful to lie. ” He reached out his hand for the young woman. He could taste her. Sexually and culinarily.

“I was wondering if you had a few minutes to give me your profile on the Brooklyn Butcher. I suspect you’re familiar with this case, considering you see Will Graham on a fairly regular basis. Or at least his girlfriend, Abigail Hobbs.”

At the sound of his young female patient’s name, Hannibal’s jaw clenched tightly.

“Ms. Lounds, I don’t know where you’re getting your information. However, you must be mistaken. I do not have contact with Will Graham, nor is Abigail Hobbs his partner.” A lie was covered up with a straight line smile.

“But you are familiar with the Brooklyn Butcher.” Her porcelain skin seemed to glow when she raised an eyebrow with the anticipation of a comment. Freddie’s nose seemed to button out at the end, similar to the backside of an elephant. Her lips seemed to constantly be pursed, a sassy combination seduction and power.

“Unfortunately, I am not. If I do hear of anything that catches my attention, you’ll be the first to know. However, you will not hear anything unless you keep Abigail Hobbs’ name out of your work. She’s been through enough these past two years. It’s understandable that you’ve found yourself to be bitter towards her, considering she ended up stopping the publication of your book.”

Freddie seemed to heavily contemplate her choices. Before she could answer Hannibal gripped her bicep firmly and took three strides so that they were against a wall. He slammed her body against the burgundy paint and leaned in towards her ear.

“Leave Will Graham and Abigail Hobbs out of this.”

Releasing her, she seemed only the slightest bit disturbed, but seemed to make it to the cheap bronze Toyota Camry without a problem.

***

Several hours later as Hannibal was reading TattleCrime.com, the doorbell rang. Closing the iPad case, he stood and smoothed out his vest and shirt. Making his way to the door, he expected Freddie Lounds to return, perhaps even Will Graham or Jack Crawford. To his surprise, Abigail Hobbs stood on his front steps.

“I’m sorry about last night.” She walked in without being invited and plunged herself into Hannibal’s chest. She gripped his back tightly, with neediness in her grasp. Closing the door while reaching over the small woman, he then wrapped his arms around Abigail.

“There’s no need to apologize. Intimacy is hard to experience.”

“It’s not intimacy in general, Hannibal.” She pulled away, her long hair falling from behind her ear. “It’s intimacy with you. You terrify me.” She couldn’t look into his eyes.

“If I terrify to this extent, then why do you continue to return to be in my presence?”  Expecting silence, Hannibal raised his eyebrows when Abigail spoke.

“You terrify me, but you also intrigue me. Significantly. The roles you play have become blurred in my mind. At first, both you and Will were father figures. Now, neither of you are. He’s a lover….. And you’re……”

“Your psychiatrist, whom you feel a sexual attraction towards.”

“Yes.” Reaching out towards her, Hannibal’s hand slipped under Abigail’s chin and lifted her head so that their eyes met. She had tears welling up. “I’m incapable of love. I can never love anyone or anything. I will never lead a normal life, will I?”

“Normality is a social faux pas, dear Abigail.” He smiled, a hint of his sharp white teeth showing. “I was actually on my way to Milton Grady’s before you arrived. I ordered art work from him. Would you like to travel with me?” She nodded, wiping the tears and following Hannibal through the house.

***

Traveling through the most populated part of Baltimore, Abigail and Hannibal finally parked in front of an abandoned looking building.

“This is merely his studio. He lives a few blocks over in a lovely penthouse.” She nodded, climbing out of the Bentley.

“Will the canvases fit in your car?” Hannibal smiled as her question, reaching out and taking her hand; a surprising and new gesture for the young woman.

“Yes, they will.  They’re not too terribly large. I plan to hang them in my bathroom and bedroom. His artwork has been in my house for years.” The two made their way to the large metal door-like contraption and Hannibal proceeded to raise a leather-gloved hand to rap on the entrance. Soon enough, the door swung open and Milton stood towering down.

“Hannibal, so good to see you! And Abigail, is it?” He reached out a hand for the young woman, wearing a high waisted black skirt, a coral colored top with a black cardigan on top. Her thighs were chilled considering she only had on knee-high socks and black boots. She shook his hand politely before being invited in.

“How is your arm, Abigail?” Milton closed the large door behind them and lead the pair up a staircase. Hannibal let the young woman in front of him, only letting his eyes linger on the swish of her long hair.

“It’s healed, thank you. I haven’t had any injuries since then.” At the top of the narrow staircase, Milton turned the corner and slipped his hand around the clear plastic that hung from the extremely high ceilings.

All around them was paint, large covered canvases, photographs of women, some full-bodied and nude, others just pieces. Before Abigail, along the bare concrete wall that spanned at least thirty feet, hung a beautiful portrait with blood red streaks and ended up forming the profile of a beautiful freckled woman.

“This piece is beautiful…. Do you usually paint women?” Abigail’s eyes were drawn to the beautiful piece.

“Almost always. You see, it’s the essence of women I strive to show in my artwork. The aura about them. The glamour, the raw sexuality, perhaps it’s even the innerworkings, too.” He seemed lost in himself and speaking about his work.

“Milton, might we show Abigail the pieces I commissioned?” Looking over her shoulder, Abigail saw a thin smile on Hannibal’s face and before she realized it, her hand was being taken and she was led across the room.

“Close your eyes.” Obeying Hannibal’s command, she allowed her eyelashes to dust her cheeks. Softly, and then with a loud swipe, she could hear Milton remove a piece of fabric from the canvas. “Open.” Her eyes fluttered open and before her stood the most magnificent piece of art she had ever seen.

“Milton, this is exquisite!” Her squeals were honest and exuberant. With the splashes of vibrant lilac, two large, brilliant blue eyes were center of Milton’s painting. At the bottom were luxurious scarlet lips.

“There are two smaller pieces I did for Hannibal, but I imagine that this is the best of the three. Hannibal, are you pleased with its result?” Milton, in a camel sweater and well-worn jeans and his ever-familiar tortoise shell glasses, turned to the psychiatrist for a response.

“I agree with Abigail, Milton. It is exquisite.” Abigail smiled, her hair swishing behind her, white teeth sparkling at the two men.

“Abigail, would you please carry the pieces to the car? I shouldn’t be too much longer.” He lifted the painting and handed to her, along with the other two small paintings which were wrapped in brown paper. She made her way back down the stairs, careful not to hit the paintings on the walls. The space was narrow, but she managed to make it down and through the metal door without any problems. 


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is a plot twist to you all. I attempted to do some foreshadowing, but I did my best to make it vague. Hopefully you enjoy it. 
> 
> Xoxox

The next morning, Abigail awoke in her bed with a feeling of excitement. It was a beautiful Saturday morning and she planned on going and adopting a kitten. She showered and began her day with a cup of tea. In just a thin grey t-shirt and a pair of panties, Abigail glanced outside and to her surprise, a familiar black Bentley was parked across from her apartment. She unlocked her door and peered out into the hallway and down the staircase to the entrance. Pulling down her shirt, she scurried down the stairs and opened the door.

“Get in here! I’m not dressed!” She giggled, gesturing for the man dressed to the nine. He made his way to the fresh young woman and kissed her fully on the lips before following her up the stairs and into her living room. She began to rush into her bedroom, still indecent.

“I’ve prepared breakfast for you. You didn’t plan on leaving the house without a proper breakfast, no?” This question caused her to blush. Sometimes, when Hannibal spoke to Abigail, he made her feel beneath him.

“No. I was just having a cup of tea. Can I get you something, or can I go and put on something else to wear?” The t-shirt scooped deeply below her collarbone and delved to display the flatness of her sternum between her breasts.

“I’ll just put this breakfast into bowls for you and I, but I’d like you to remain what you’re wearing.” She smiled, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear and scratched a spot on the back of her neck.

“You hardly ever see me like this…” He was pulling out two sterling silver travel bowls from a black bag.

“I want you to become comfortable with me. If it will make you comfortable, I’ll remove my clothes. I came here to your apartment, so that you would be in your area of comfort.” He opened the lids and set them aside, his slicked-back hair glistening in the morning sunlight peering into the pale blue kitchen. The space was bare, a small clear vase with gerbera daisies sat at the right corner of her sink. On the window sill just above the sink sat a picture of her father and her when she was just a baby. While recent memories of her father terrified her, Abigail allowed herself to be comforted by early memories with her family.

“If you would undress at least to just pants and no shoes, that would make things a little bit easier, I think.” With poise, elegance and proper posture, Hannibal undressed. He stood in a pair of black boxer briefs, walking to place his trousers, shirt, vest, tie and jacket on the love seat in Abigail’s living room.

_Was he taking after Will?_

“Come here,” He whispered, holding out his hand, naked in front of her. As she moved, she felt her chest tighten along with other members of her body. Hannibal turned her so that she was facing the counter and his hands were on her hips. The pair stood for several minutes, just feeling each other’s bodies. The quietness and the intimacy between them was too pure for words. They spoke softly to one another, asking simple questions. As time passed, Abigail became more fond and comfortable with the older man.

“You have a beautiful body, Abigail.” His lips were pressed against her neck before he slipped a finger over her shoulder and hooked it into the collar of her shirt. With patience, Hannibal slid down Abigail’s shirt so that her breasts were exposed. Taking her nipple in between his fingers, he pinched, twisting it and making her cry out and grab hold of the counter in front of her.

“Does this arouse you?” She answers with a soft moan as he turns her around and pulls the t-shirt over her head, just in a pair of black lace panties. He glanced over her body, not letting his eyes wander for too long, but enough to let Abigail know he was appreciating what was before him. As she looked up at him, she knew she wanted him. Her body ached for him.

“Take me to bed,” she whispered, tenderly placing her hand on his bare chest, decorated with thick, black and silver curls.

“Happily.” He pulled her hand and walked towards her bedroom, stopping in the doorway to press her against the frame and kiss her passionately. His lips were thick, and wide and consumed her small mouth. Politely, their tongues were kept in their own mouths. She sat on the bed, hands taut at her sides so that her small breasts bulged forward at the psychiatrist before her. He kneeled down in front of her and sucked a breast into his mouth, his hand on the small of her back, pulling her body towards him. She could feel the stubble surrounding his mouth and ached for it between her legs.

“Hannibal,” She moaned, running her fingers through his hair. He pushed his spread finger up her torso so that her back was flat against the bed. With a tug at the waist of her panties, Abigail lifted herself up and felt the cool rush of air before the heat and wetness met her. After moments of pleasure, she opened her eyes and saw the man wipe his mouth. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her before setting her down just further up on the bed. He kneeled over her and she could feel the tip of him just pressing against her leg. Her hands found the brim of his boxers; she struggled to pull them down, but finally succeeded.

“Do you want this?” He whispered, his tongue dancing just below her ear.

“Yes. I do, very much.” At that comment, Hannibal lowered himself and she felt him press inside her, filling her and consuming her. She cried out and let herself become use to the size.

“Oh, yes.” She moaned, her back arching and her breasts meeting his chest. He panted as he thrust into her, gaining speed. His face was buried in her neck as he continued and he wound his fingers between hers above her head.

“Please,” He mumbled, between her breasts as the tension began to build. His long silver-streaked hair was in his face as he pulled back to match his hard stare with Abigail’s.

“Hannibal….. Yes.” She hissed through her teeth, her eyebrows knitted with passion in her crushed eyes. The feeling was coming. It was going to break her in two, she was sure of it.

Then all at once, a release came, the strongest and most beautiful she had ever experienced. She cried out loudly and Hannibal filled her after one last thrust.

Collapsing, he let himself roll to the side, a moment later. He leaned over and put his hands on the flatness between Abigail’s breasts.

“Are you fufilled?” He asked of her, only wanting a sweet reply.

“Extremely. That was….. Beautifully intimate, Hannibal.” Her eyes were closed as she rested on top of her bed, completely spent.

“Let us rest and then we’ll have a bath, hmm?” The man stretched himself out, only his leg touching the young woman, attempting to give her some sense of space.

“Don’t forget breakfast.” She giggled before rolling to the side, her back and bare bottom facing Hannibal.

“Mmm…. I’m plenty full, thank you.”

***

After a short shower, Abigail dried her hair and appeared in the bedroom wearing a simple white tanktop and a pair of lavender panties. Hannibal was lounging on her bed, his boxer briefs back and covering himself. He was glancing through one of Abigail’s text books.

“I remember my courses in medical school. Some tedious. Others heart-wrenching. The worst were taught by non-empathetic teachers who had no love of medicine nor anatomy.” She agreed with him, tossing herself onto the side of the bed Hannibal did not occupy.

“I was think while I was in the shower,” she started, fiddling with her thumbs, her eyes drawn to the soft sheets between her forearms.

“Sometimes when your thoughts consume you, you make poor decisions, Abigail.”

“I was thinking that I should seek someone else for therapy. It’s just unethical. With our intimacy and romantic relationship, it’s time I find someone else. Possibly return to Dr. Bloom. She is familiar enough with me, but I believe can still help.” She finally glanced up at the man in her bed, her face stark white in reaction to his. His eyes remained emotionless, his lips slightly pursed and anger coating his outermost being. “Hannibal, we can discontinue our relationship, if you want to keep me on as a patient. It’s whatever you want. I just don’t feel comfortable seeing a romantic partner for my psychiatrist.”

“That is a mature statement to declare, my dear. I do agree with your point, while I do not enjoy the truth in your opinion.” His eyebrows remained flat lined, like the monitor displaying a deceased person’s heartbeat.

“I’m going to get dressed, and then I’m going to adopt a kitten. You’re more than welcome to join me, but you don’t have to.” She began to stand, but Hannibal caught her wrist. His grip pulled her to him, his body now erect with his proper back posture. He let his lips press against the exposed skin of her upper back. The warm breath on her skin caused a shiver to run down her spine. She turned and kissed Hannibal sweetly on the lips.

“I’ll finish preparing breakfast and then I’ll be on my way. You should have time to acquaint your new pet to its surroundings.”

***

When Abigail saw the sleek, long-haired grey kitten in the kennel, she knew the cat was the one for her. After being allowed to hold the kitten, she mewed softly and reached out her claws and clutched onto Abigail’s sweater.

“She seems to want to bond with you.” The woman in the kennel room seemed to notice the chemistry between female and feline and brought over a clipboard for Abigail to sign the adoption papers. “We have a small pet store just around the corner where you can get food, a collar, toys and a bed for the cat. What will you name her? We’ll make a name tag here with your information in case she gets lost.” Pondering for a moment while holding the kitten and scratching under its chin, Abigail knew immediately.

“Keiko. It means kindness in Japanese.” She smiled and followed the woman out into the main lobby where a tag was made for the kitten.

“Just take this around the corner and pick out a collar. They will usually cut you a deal if you buy like, a ‘cat starter kit’ as the workers call it.” Giggling together, Abigail wrapped the kitten in her plaid scarf and left the building before rounding the corner. Mewing loudly when Abigail opened the door, Keiko peered her large blue eyes up at Abigail. There was a small spot of white below her baby pink nose, and her eyes cringed when she whined.

“How can I help you, miss?” A small man with hardly any hair, dressed in a hideous and well-worn red polo approached the young woman.

“I need to buy a few things for my cat. I just adopted her from the store around the corner?”

“Ah, yes. Well, why don’t you head over and pick up a collar for the young cat and I’ll grab some of the recommendations we have for a new owner.” Abigail nodded and glanced down at the kitten as she wandered through the aisles to find a collection of rainbow collars. Grabbing the smallest and the second smallest collars, both in a teal, Abigail smiled at the rhinestones towards the back.

“Have you grabbed a couple different sizes? She probably won’t get too big, but I’d grab the three smallest sizes.” The man shouted from across the store; Abigail could hear the tinkling of bells, most likely from a toy. Keiko’s eyes opened and her ears perked up at the noise. After a few moments, the cat tucked her head back down in the warm fleece and fell back asleep. Abigail leaned over and grabbed the third smallest size in a lavender. The color would suit the cat’s fur.

“I think this is all I need.” Abigail made it to the counter, where the man had piled a selection of necessaries.

“Alright. So, this is her food…” Abigail’s mind wandered, glancing down at the ads stuck under the clear glass top of the counter. She saw an ad for a missing girl, and it made her cringe with bad memories. “Finally, I’ve got you a travel carrier. This is big now, but you can put a small towel in and some blankets or soft toys to pad the area. You will only need this if you want to keep her from running around your house while you’re gone. Are there any questions?”

“Nope. I think that’s all.” The cat reached out a paw and Abigail let her step up and onto the counter, winding the scarf back around her neck. She realized her scar was exposed and noticed the man’s lingering stare.

“You total comes to Sixty three dollars and forty nine cents.” Abigail gave him the cash and unfastened the smallest collar to slip it onto the cat. Taking the tag from her coat pocket, the girl managed to pop it on within a few moments. “Now, don’t forget to take her to the vet regularly.” Abigail nodded and opened the carrier for the cat. Taking a fleece blanket that she purchased, she laid it down and the cat sniffed its way it; the behavior was more similar to a dog than a cat.

“Thank you!” Abigail smiled, one hand clutching the mewing carrier and the other a plastic bag with the “cat starter kit.”

***

That night, Abigail had a visit from Will. She had prepared a small supper of grilled cheese and tomato soup and dressed semi-nice in a pair of skinny jeans, brown riding boots and a loose flannel shirt. Keiko was nestled next to Abigail when Will buzzed for her. She let him in as she turned off the TV and slipped Keiko under her arm.

“Hi,” He said, wrapping his arms warmly around Abigail. The cat let out a soft cry and Will pulled away, shocked. “A cat?”

“Yes! Isn’t she adorable!?” Abigail giggled and handed Keiko to the man after he removed his thick green jacket. Walking into the kitchen, Abigail stirred the tomato soup, ladling it into old, worn bowls. When Will walked into the kitchen, Abigail noticed the cat was not in his arms. She gave him a puzzled look, turning from the stove.

“Do you not like her?”

“It’s not that… I just, I don’t believe cats are fond of me. You know how I’m more comfortable with dogs.” That she laughed out loud at. Yes, Will Graham had almost an obsession with canines.

“Do you want potato chips with your grilled cheese?” He nodded and reached into the fridge to pull out a beer by its neck.

“Mhmm.” He swallowed rapidly, closing his eyes in reaction to the crisp, cold taste. “You want one?” Abigail really only kept the beer around for Will, but decided to oblige. She was in a drinking mood.

“I slept with Hannibal.” She stated, dropping a handful of Lay’s potato chips between the freshly sliced grilled cheese.

“And?”

“I told him I didn’t want to see him as a psychiatrist any longer.” She placed the grilled cheese plate on the cheap linoleum table and the bowl of tomato soup to its left.

“The doctor did not take this lightly, I suppose. He seems to take anything involving his patients very seriously. I am, I must admit, a bit surprised he pursued a sexual relationship with you. He must have known you had been seeing me.”

“He did know. We actually had a close encounter one night after I told him about us. However, this happened last night. Right after we came from picking up artwork. Will, you should see this man’s paintings! The most vibrant colors mixed with the emphasis of women. It’s beyond belief.” Will’s eyes were fixed at his hands, the beer half-full. “Will?” She asked, reaching out for him.

“Sorry. I drifted. Let’s eat.” He turned quickly, nearly stepping on the small kitten, her eyes wide and pointed upward at her master.

“Oh Keiko! I didn’t feed you. Will, go ahead and dig in. I’m going to get Keiko’s dinner ready.” She pulled the plum bowl from the plastic bag and removed its sticker. After pouring the food into the bowl, she rested it on the ground just below her dirty sink. Walking back to the table, Will had nearly finished his soup.

“I didn’t expect you to think of my food as good as Dr. Lecter’s, but I figured some good home-cooking might hit the spot.” Abigail took a big swig of the beer and winced at the bitter taste. The soft burn felt good running down her throat. As she finished her grilled cheese, she stood and grabbed two more beers from the fridge. Keiko mewed softly, clawing at Abigail’s ankle. She nestled the head of her kitten and Keiko pranced over to the sofa in the next room and curled into a ball on the floor.

“She seems to fulfill your needs.” Will took the next beer from the middle of the table and twisted the cap off. Taking a potato chip, he crunched on it loudly.

“That’s exactly what Hannibal said. Listen, it’s just that I get lonely at night. Plus I thought it would be nice to have something warm and cuddly to come home to at the end of the day. I may be single, but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve love, alright?” Towards the end of her monologue, Abigail’s voice grew stronger and high-pitched. She was becoming upset. Will’s hand pressed down on hers and he finished his grilled cheese without another word between them. 


	10. Ten

Three beers later, Abigail and Will were laughing and falling all over each other on the couch. Keiko slept peaceful on her owner’s right and Will wound his hands through Abigail’s hair as he sat to her right.

“You smell delicious.” He whispered, kissing her with consumption.

“You’re just drunk.” She giggled, pushing the man away.

“Your point?” At this she laughed even harder, tilting her head back. Will nuzzled his mouth onto her exposed skin and vibrated his lips, tickling her most sensitive part.

“Will!” She squealed, her eyes growing weary with sleep. “Let’s go to bed….” She whined, standing and tugging at his arm. He picked up the cat with his left hand as he was pulled into the open bedroom. Street lights poured in the windows that covered one wall. He couldn’t imagine this much light in one room. He could never sleep without it being completely dark.

“I’m too tired to have sex.” She said, peeling off her clothes to where she only wore a grey v-neck top and a pair of black leggings. It was cold on her trip to the pet store so she layered herself extensively. Putting a spare pillow on the floor, Keiko put her paw on it, feeling for stability and comfort, and decided that ultimately it would be safe. She curled herself up and nestled her head between her paws. Abigail pulled back the worn comforter and slid herself under the sheets. “Come to bed, silly.” She whispered, a hint of humor in her voice. She turned from glancing over the side of the bed to see Will wearing his ever-familiar boxer briefs and no shirt.

“Yes, mom!” He saluted her and hauled himself over the edge of the bed, landing on the small-framed girl.

“Stop!” She cried and Will rolled off and lifted his body to pull the comforter and sheet from beneath him. Within moments, the pair were entangled together, sleeping with no regard to the rest of the world faltering around them.

***

When Abigail woke the next morning, Will was gone. Sunday had rolled around and Abigail had many tasks to accomplish before the end of the day. She checked her phone and noticed a missed call and voice mail from Will. She listened.

“Abigail, it’s Will. I think I’ve made a break through on the case. Listen, I called Dr. Lecter to ask him the name of the painter you saw two days ago. I think he might be the man I’m looking for. Dr. Lecter is coming over right now. Abigail, I think you’re the next target. I’m going to hunt him down. It will be okay. Be safe.” The line went dead and Abigail’s throat tightened up. She hurriedly reached down and swiped the kitten from its bed. Shaking, she peered around the doorway of her bedroom, and noticed the silence and the familiarity. Nobody was there. It wouldn’t be possible for them to get in. As she tiptoed into the kitchen, Abigail slid a butter knife from the table into the brim of her underwear. She had to be prepared no matter what. Her phone began vibrating and she answered it.

“Abigail, I’m here. Buzz me in.” Hannibal’s voice instantly calmed her and she ran over to let the man in. As she turned around to set Keiko down, Hannibal walked through the door.

“Hello, Abigail.” The voice did not belong to her lover and psychiatrist.

“Milton.” She turned, attempting to remain calm, yet her eyes were wide with fear and her lips were parted to suck in breath rapidly.

“I’m going to make you into something beautiful for all to see.” The tortoise-shelled glasses gave off a glare in the morning light, just as Abigail slipped her hand into the waist of her panties. Clutching the knife, Milton launched himself at her, pressing a cloth over her mouth and rendering her unconscious.

***

Waking slowly, Abigail attempted to become acquainted with her surroundings. She was in a large, open space, but there was not much lighting to give her sight. The feeling of cool air made her realize there was a door or window somewhere nearby. It was frighteningly cold. Her first thought outside of her surroundings were of Keiko. Was the cat okay?

“I see you are awake. I hope the journey wasn’t too rough on you, my angel.” A hand found her cheek and felt along the bone.

“Why me?” She was very confused. With a combination of the chloroform and the situation, Abigail wasn’t sure.

“Your hair. And your skin. The perfect thing for my next piece. I assure you, the rest of you will not go to waste. I believe your father you to honor every part of her, or else it is simply murder. Is this true?” At this question, Abigail had tears streaming down her face. She contemplated begging, but knew the tactics wouldn’t work. Only a third-party intervention would save her. 

“Yes. He fed the girls to my mom and I. It was the same with the other meat we had on the dinner table. What will you do with me once you’ve got my hair and skin? Will you eat me, like my father forced me to do?” Chuckling, the man knelt down before her, finally revealing his face to her. His glasses were tucked in his pockets and he was just below eye level.

“You will be cherished, I assure you. You’re the image of Venus, Abigail. A perfect portrait that will draw much attention from the press. My wife, you see, started it all. She continued to strive for beauty and with my money, began plastic surgery. I’m guessing you could see the work done.” It was true. Abigail had noticed the fakeness of his wife from the moment they met.

“Will you kill me first? Or will you allow me the privilege of experiencing my ever-so painful end?” She was able to hold herself together except for the shaking and the tears pouring down her face. The rope scratched against her soft skin and as she shook, it slowly began leaving burns.

“Are you sure you want to hear this, my lotus flower? It may be gruesome.” In the chair she was tied to, her back was aching. She must have been there for at least several hours. Where was she?

“Where am I?” Her voice was soft, her eyes still focused on Milton’s.

“New York. It wasn’t easy, the drive we made. I’m surprised you didn’t wake up. It was so snow-packed and icy that the car fish-tailed a few times. However, here we are. Just the two of us. Oh, how you will make a beautiful painting.” Milton reached out his hand to grasp a lock of Abigail’s long dark hair. “I’m going to cut it now. Of course, this will cause no pain, but your hair will be rather short. I would like you to still have some hair, that way I can cut more off if it want it.” He smiled chillingly, and revealed a pair of scissors. “Now, stay still, my little dove.” He stood and walked around to the back of the chair, slipping all of Abigail’s locks behind the backboard.

“Make it pretty,” She whispered, her eyes clamping shut at the sound of the scissor blades opening.

“Always.” Then a weight was lifted from her shoulders. “Oh, it’s beautiful, Abigail. Simply gorgeous.” Appearing in front of her, Milton clutched the long hair in his hand, kneeling down before her once again. “This cut really brings out the shape of your jaw; I must admit, I may have to take all of your hair.” His lips drew up towards his eyes and he chuckled maniacally.

“Milton, will you paint in front me. Just to see what I’m becoming?” Milton had just stood, beginning to walk away.

“Oh, of course. I want you to experience this with me. I want you to see your transformation into a work of art.”

***

How long had she been with Milton? Hours? Days? Weeks? It seemed like ages. He appeared with a mirror. Really, it was a shard of a mirror.

“Thank you,” She whispered, humbly pressing the empty soup bowl with her tied feet. With a shimmer of light temporarily blinding her, she looked into the piece to see someone she didn’t recognize. Her hair was just below her chin, curling into her face to give her a womanly shape.

“Your skin is quite exquisite, no?” She cringed at her image and turned her head away. “Do you fear yourself now, my darling? You shouldn’t. You’re beautiful and it will only get better from here.” He smiled down at her, false security plastered to his lips. He left quickly and Abigail laid herself back down on the stained mattress.

‘At least the makeshift bed is more comfortable than the chair.’ She thought to herself. Drifting off to sleep, she began to shiver. It was cold in the large room. In a corner of the room, she could smell something peculiar. Perhaps it was paint, or possibly something burning. Abigail wasn’t sure.

“Do you want to see?” Milton suddenly appeared in front of her, causing the young girl to jump back. Swallowing, she nodded hesitantly. Turning on a light which echoed in the room, Abigail saw her hair spread onto a canvas, red paint poured across it in ugly, thick streaks. “Don’t worry, your rich blood will soon cover up the paint. I just wanted to have an idea of how it would look. Beautiful, is it not?” At this, Abigail opened her mouth and screamed angrily. No words poured out, simply a guttural, pain-induced cry. “Shh, shh, little fawn. It will soon be over. I’ve decided to finish the job your father never did. I’ll just open up that cut again and let your life spill out. It will make me famous, you realize?” His eyes lit up at this question, giddy like a little boy.

“You sick fuck. You’re fucked up! You aren’t right at all in your head! What the fuck do you think you’re doing!? You’ll never amount to anything.” The smile dissolved from the man’s face, his wrinkles relaxing, yet his eyes cold and black.

“You filthy cunt!” He drew back his hand, letting it fly out and knock Abigail completely off the mattress and to the cold, lifeless, cement floor. “You will never amount to anything! You are stupid, insignificant and a failure in existence. I wish your father had finished the job, or at least Hannibal Lecter had done it.” At the name of one of her most trusted friends, Abigail sobbed heavily. When would someone come for her? “I think it’s time to finish the job. That way I can make you into something you’d never be without my help. Come along.” He tugged at the rope around Abigail’s wrists, dragging her along, nearly dislocating both of her shoulders.

“LET ME GO!” She screamed, kicking her legs up and down. At one point in the journey across the frigid concrete floor, Milton stopped, turned her over and slapped her roughly across the face.

“Shut the fuck up! Your voice does you no good. Your looks will only help you in this situation.” As they entered another room, Abigail was bombarded with the scent of wet paint and the sound of classical music. “LISTEN TO THIS, MY DEAR. IT IS BEAUTIFUL! YOU’LL BECOME ONE OF THEM TO THIS MUSIC!” She was placed against a wall, beneath grey-tinted windows. There was plenty of cool light shining through to let her see every move Milton Grady made. She was going to die, after all.

***

After attaching chains to each wrist and ankle, Abigail was hoisted up, suspended from the pipes. Luckily she was clothed. The music had become natural for her to hear. Not able to recognize the song or composer, she relied on the familiar themes and attempted to picture the movies she had heard them in. When she heard the sharpening of a blade accompanying the music, she grew nauseous. Not allowing herself to let it get to her, she swallowed the pain and terror and continued to think of the wonderful things that had occurred in her life. If she was truly going to have her life ended, she would have it end with warm memories occupying her mind.

“Now, little angel, I’m going to get right to the point and slit your wrists first. I want the blood and that’s why I’ve positioned the buckets where they are.” She hadn’t even noticed the silver pails on either side of her. With the position she was in, her neck had grown sore and tired; she had let it slump forward almost permanently.

“Will you make sure to display me well? Make sure everyone knows who I am and what I stood for, Milton.” She couldn’t see him, but knew he held the large, sharp knife in his hand.

“Of that, I can assure you.” Within moments, she allowed herself to lift her neck up and see Milton standing below her. “I’m going to remove your clothes, so I can see what I’m working with.” She clamped her eyes shut at this, terrified. A few swishes of the air and moments later, Abigail felt a draft sweep over her body. Peeking open her eyes, she looked down to the floor to see sliced bits of her clothing in a pile. “Tell your present body goodbye, as you will now become something great.”

“Goodbye, earth. Goodbye Hannibal and Will. Goodbye Keiko.” She whispered to herself and to whoever could hear her.

“You will be able to greet your mother and father, but only before a moment during the transition.” She cringed at this. What a sick, sick man. “Goodbye and hello, my love.” With one quick motion, Abigail felt the knife slip through every layer of skin and into the deepest parts of her right wrist. Already, the blood dripped into the empty bucket, running first, towards her armpit. After this first move, Milton walked over to swipe his knife across Abigail’s left wrist.

“You’re glowing, already.” He smiled, lifting her head up and planting a strong kiss on her near-lifeless lips.

“Milton Grady, FBI! Put your hands up!” She could see the color drain from her captor’s face as he was caught. Things were growing fuzzy.

“We have the suspect in custody and the victim still hanging!” A low voice shouted, and then she heard Will’s.

“Cut her down!” She could feel her warm blood coat the sides of her body as she was pulled down from the pipes. From that point, she wasn’t sure what happened. All she knew was that she was going to die after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only going to give this a few more thousand words. It's time to edit and part with this lovely gem. It's time to move on to a better world. However, who will I kill admist this transition? 
> 
> Hmmmmm.


	11. Eleven

“Do you ever worry that your life be filled with recurring traumas?” Abigail sat in her apartment, knees against her chest. Will was sitting across from her, a cup of coffee in one of her cracked mugs.

“Of course I do.” The scars on her wrists were thick, jagged and still stapled. She had just been released from the hospital the day before. “I’m mostly worried that my life will be filled with nightmares of my past traumas.”

“I believe that’s reasonable to fear, Abigail.” Dr. Alana Bloom sat adjacent to Will, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, a casual blouse and dark wash jeans representing her attire.

“I don’t want to live my life in fear.”

“Then don’t avoid the fear.” Will had his eyes focused heavily on the steaming mug in front of him until he spoke those words, and then his eyes darted upwards, chilling Abigail to the bone with his cold glance.

“I think I’d like some alone time… I’ll call you if I need anything.” She stood slowly, still recovering from the blood loss. Even with the transfusion, Abigail found herself to be unsteady. Will placed the mug on the stained table, turned to Alana and rose from his chair. “Thanks for coming. I appreciate it. But now I need some rest and I want to spend time with Keiko.” The kitten was nestled next to Abigail on the sofa, sleeping peacefully.

“Of course, Abigail.” Nodding, Alana reached for the scarlet wool coat draped over the back of her chair, and with the help of Will, slipped it on.

“Goodbye.” Will kissed Abigail on the forehead and then ushered Alana out the door.

The silence consumed her and sickened her. Rushing to the bathroom, she fell to her knees in front of the toilet and was violently ill. Keiko mewed, observing her owner in the bathroom of the small apartment. Standing, Abigail began stripping, letting those clothes fall to the wooden floor. Wearing just a pair of panties, she slid herself between the sheets and closed her eyes to the world, praying that she never awoke.

* * *

Darkness had consumed the room when Abigail’s eyes opened again. There was someone else in her room. Fear paralyzed her as she clutched the quilt that covered her breasts.

“Wh-wh-who’s there?” A stuttered whisper escaped her mouth and flooded the space surrounding her.

“I’m here. I didn’t want to wake you.” The voice snuck to her from the corner where her favorite lounge chair was resting.

“You knew, Hannibal. You knew.” Reaching over, she pulled the chain on the vintage lamp resting on her worn nightstand. Warm light reached just to the tips of Hannibal Lecter’s wing-tipped, handmade Italian shoes. “Why, Hannibal? Why?” There was no reply.

“I wanted to see what you would do.”

“Yet again with your curiosity.”

“It drives many of my actions, yes.”

“I hate you, Hannibal. I hate you.” Sitting up in bed, Abigail drew the lavender sheet up to her chest. She glared at him from her spot in the bed. Soon, he emerged from the shadows, his deep-set eyes haunting her as he moved to stand at the end of her bed. “Why are you here?”

“Curiosity. I wanted to see your scars, your hair. The porcelain nature of your skin.”

“Get out.”

“I wanted to see you, Abigail. I wanted to let my eyes wander over you, see you in flesh. I don’t want to harm you. Not now.”

“But you did. Why?” Hurt twisted her face in many directions. “Never mind. I know the answer.” At the end of her bed, Hannibal Lecter began undressing himself, pulling at his shining belt, unbuttoning hand-carved buttons and slipping off shoes. He stood before her in a pair of pale blue silk boxers, before he walked to the opposite side of the bed and pulled the quilt back and joined her.

“Don’t fear me, Abigail. I merely want to comfort you, feel your skin against mine.” Reaching out, his hand found her exposed cheek, their soft skin in contact. He nestled himself against her, wrapping his strong arm around her fragile waist, tugging her body towards his. The warmth of his body was shared with hers and soon she found herself easing the small of her back against his groin and forming her spine to the curve of his body. Tugging the chain on the lamp, Abigail closed her eyes and let her mind cleanse itself of impurities.


	12. The End

Hannibal’s eyes fluttered open and he took account of his surroundings. It took him a moment to realize he was not in his king-sized, luscious bed, but in Abigail Hobbs’s queen-sized bed. He rolled to face her, only to see that Abigail was not next to him in bed. Pushing back his greasy, grey-streaked hair, Hannibal blinked with heaviness to clear his sight.

“Abigail?” He blinked again, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Something wasn’t right. Sitting up, Hannibal noticed the quilt was gone that had once covered him. Around him, valuable, important items were missing; the drawers to her wardrobe were hanging open.

“Abigail!” Exclaiming, Hannibal threw himself from the bed, searching the large bedroom with fury. Everything important to Abigail was gone. The only item she left behind: the jeweled crème evening gown that she had worn to the opera. It was poised on the foot of the bed, a symbol of Abigail’s absence. Taking the gown into his hands, Hannibal brought his to his nose, inhaling her scent. He clenched his jaw in anger and gripped the dress with tight fists.

 

***

In a small craftsman home in Portland, Oregon, Meredith Byrne sat on her front porch, inhaling the scent of the rain. She ran her long fingers over the arch in her abdomen, a foreign body growing with every passing moment. As she took a sip of her ice water that had been resting on the wooden side table, Meredith heard the phone ring. Expecting the call, she stood and walked into the living room, picking up the landline.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. I’m almost there.” Smiling, she hung up and looked down at her belly. “It’s daddy!” She tugged at the brown hair in a pixie cut, something Meredith and just done recently. The sound of a car stopping in front of her house made her cheeks burn. Happiness overwhelmed her as she saw the bearded man exit the bright yellow taxi. Flinging open the screen door, she ran to him, splashing through the puddles on the sidewalk to the street. “Scott!” He dropped the suitcases on either side of his corduroys, spreading his arms to let his wife jump into them. After moments of cheerful kissing and embracing, he finally let her go and picked up his suitcases to follow her inside.

Locking the door, Meredith let Scott rest the suitcases at the foot of the stairs.

“Will…”

“It’s good to see you, Abigail.”

 

 

 


End file.
